A Boy's Destiny
by Charis77
Summary: In a land of myth, and a time of magic, the destiny of a great kingdom rests on the shoulders of a young boy. A twelve year old boy, to be exact. When Arthur attacks a Druid camp and is saved by a young boy, he has no idea the destiny that has drawn them together, nor how much the boy Merlin will come to mean to him. AU.
1. The Dragon Man

Arthur Pendragon had marched on the Druid camp in deference to his father. What he hadn't anticipated was the complete lack of resistance. None took up arms, instead kneeling in defiance. Arthur had withheld the order to attack. Maybe if his father could see them, he'd realize they weren't really a threat. Arthur changed the order to one of arrest, but the moment a mother screeched as her child was torn from her arms and naturally fought back was all his father's knights needed to begin the slaughter.

Arthur had dived in as well when several of the Druid men withdrew knives and clubs, attacking the knights attacking their families. He fell into the easy rhythm of battle, and the usually peaceful Druids were a sorry match for his prowess. Or so he thought until one managed to knock his sword from his hand with a particularly crushing blow to his arm. Arthur heard the snap of his wrist and sucked in a breath at the pain. He fell back and the Druid made to smash his head like a melon, when a boy appeared out of nowhere, throwing himself in front of the prince.

Arthur stared into the boy's blue eyes as the club hit him in the back and sent him sprawling. Arthur had time to retrieve his sword and thrust it through the chest of the Druid who collapsed dead. One of his father's knights had appeared, grasping the back of the boy's shirt collar and hauling him into the air. He held his sword to the boy's neck.

"Wait!" Arthur cried out. "Stop!"

The knight suddenly dropped his sword _and_ the boy. The boy darted away into the battle. Arthur stared after him until his father's knight fell onto him, a knife in his back. Arthur was forced back into the battle.

* * *

Merlin stumbled through falling bodies and stamping feet. His back roared in pain, but he kept going. A normal child might have faltered, but Merlin was far from normal. He was seeing time in slow motion, able to dodge obstacles as he made for the woods. He reached them and ran until breathless. He fell and curled up near a tree, praying he wouldn't be found, but afraid he would. After all, he'd seen the man who'd haunted his steps ever since he was born.

* * *

Arthur stared blankly at the numerous bodies dotting the Druid camp. None had been left alive. He tried to tell himself he'd just been following orders, but the corpses of women and children cried out to him. He shook his head, pushing away guilt. They may have looked innocent, but they were magic users. His father had told him from the time he was born you couldn't trust those who used magic. They were wolves in sheep's clothing.

A knight tended to his broken wrist, bandaging it and creating a makeshift sling from fabric torn from a Druid's clothing. Trying not to think of the battle, Arthur's mind flitted to the boy who'd taken the blow meant for him. He'd started to think he imagined the whole thing. Why would a Druid boy step in and save a man murdering...no, he corrected, killing...his people?

Once he was patched up, he called for a return to camp. It was too late to head home with news of a victory. Better to rest and eat after such physical exertion.

Arthur found himself alone back at the camp, not hungry and unable to joke and laugh as his father's knights were. He'd come of age six months ago, but even so, many of the knights chafed at his leadership. Almost all of them were far older than he was. He could only think of one that had always gone out of his way to be kind, Leon, but he'd stayed home this time.

Arthur wished his father would let the younger knights come on expeditions like this. Some of them were his friends, but his father was obsessive over his safety and even though he knew Arthur had to be allowed to exercise his leadership, he also desired his protection. The more experienced knights would do that, or so he said.

A breeze blew through the camp, rustling the trees and bushes surrounding it. Arthur blinked lazily, tired. A bush rustled again. Arthur frowned. There had been no breeze that time. He concentrated on the bush and after a while, it trembled ever so slightly. Arthur slowly stood. He walked in the opposite direction of the bush, then into the woods, drawing his sword and circling back around to come at the bush from the back.

Arthur stepped lightly, his boots barely making noise as he'd been trained. He could just make out a form crouched behind the bush. He came up right behind it and pressed his sword into it. The form yelped and whirled around to face him. His face blanched. It was the boy who had saved him.

"What was that?" a knight called out.

Arthur cursed and sheathed his sword, then grasped a wad of the boy's jacket, dragging him deeper into the woods as fast as he could. He didn't stop until the sounds of knights ceased behind them. He dropped the boy to the ground and leaned against a tree. The boy scooted backwards on his rear. Arthur couldn't see his expression in the dark.

"Foolish idiot," Arthur hissed. "Why did you come back here?"

The boy didn't answer.

"You need to go. Run."

"You...you don't want to kill me?"

"You saved my life. Why would I kill you?"

"You killed all the Druids."

Arthur lifted an eyebrow. The boy talked like he didn't belong to the Druids. "You're not a Druid?"

"No," the boy readily admitted.

"Where do you come from?"

"Ealdor."

In Cenred's kingdom. The boy was a long way from home. "Why are you here, then?"

"I...I..."

"Well?"

"I...left home. The Druids found me in the woods."

Arthur laughed at that. "You're a runaway. Well, then, run away. Go."

"I don't want to go home."

Arthur knelt down and looked into the boy's eyes, well, where he thought they were in the dark. "Do you know who I am?"

Once again, the boy refrained from answering.

"Athur Pendragon. Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot. My father is the king, and you are a child that should obey when royalty commands you."

The boy remained silent.

"Go." Arthur infused all the harshness he could muster into the word.

"I...can't."

"Why not?" Arthur asked in exasperation.

But the sound of shouts and running feet interrupted him.

* * *

 _Do you know who I am?_ the prince had asked. Merlin hadn't known, but he'd wanted to say he'd seen this man from the time he was four. He'd dreamed about him almost every night of his life. He'd even given him a name—the Dragon Man, since he'd seen a dragon symbol on his clothing almost every time. Then the man said he was a prince. A prince of Camelot!

 _Why are you here, then?_ Because the voice had told him to go. Because the voice shouted at him every night for the last month until it hurt too much, and he obeyed.

The Druids had taken pity on him. He'd explained what he'd seen and heard, but even they weren't sure what it meant. Still, they didn't send him back and he thought they had secrets of their own, because he'd catch some of them staring at him as if they were awed and afraid at the same time.

He'd been terrified when the knights showed up, though he was also confused. He'd recognized the dragon symbol from his dreams. They'd been attacked, and he'd intended to hide during the entire battle. Then this man in front of him had fallen right next to his hiding spot. He'd beheld the face of the Dragon Man in real life for the first time. He'd jumped in front of him without thinking.

 _Go._ He couldn't. He'd found the Dragon Man, and he knew if he left him, the voice would torment him once more.

* * *

"Sire!" A knight stumbled into Arthur who shouted.

"Watch out!"

"You disappeared."

"Can't a man relieve himself without being watched?"

"I'm sorry, sire." The knight became aware of a form cowering at his feet. He reached down to grip a limb and forced the child to stand. "Who's this?"

"A boy," Arthur said, keeping his voice even. "I found him wandering."

"Where are you from?" the knight asked, shaking him. "Are you a Druid, boy?"

"He's not," Arthur said quickly. "I already questioned him. He's on his own out here. No family."

The knight let the boy go. "An orphan, eh? Tough luck for him."

"Indeed. I've offered him a meal and a place to sleep for the night."

The knight grunted, but turned to move back to camp, shouting out, "I found him. He's alright. Get back to camp."

"Well, I suppose we'd better keep to the ruse," Arthur muttered, pushing the boy in the back towards the camp. The boy gasped. "I forgot...You were hurt."

"It's alright."

Arthur didn't believe that for a moment, but he waited until they made it back to camp, and the boy had been handed a bowl of stew and drunk from a water skin. Arthur was able to get a better look at him now. He guessed he was around twelve years of age, awkwardly lanky and pale with a mop of raven hair. His clothing was simple—a rust jacket, blue shirt, and red neckerchief.

"Let me see your back," Arthur insisted once the boy had finished eating.

The boy bit his lip, looking scared.

"Come on," Arthur said, wiggling his own arm in a sling. "I had to be looked after, too."

The boy slipped off his jacket and shirt, and Arthur turned him gently around to look. He whistled. A large diagonal bruise had formed across his back from his right shoulder to the center of his left side.

Arthur rose. "Wait here." He made his way to his horse, withdrew a small bottle from a saddlebag, and returned. He handed the bottle to the boy. "For the pain. Only drink a little."

The boy did as he was told, sipping it, then handing it back to Arthur. He redressed.

"Now, here's a blanket." Arthur passed it to the boy, who promptly wrapped it around his shoulders. "Get some sleep." The boy snuggled down, his face to the fire. Arthur lay back on his own pallet, staring at the boy's still form continuing to wonder why a child had seen fit to save his life.

* * *

Merlin watched the dancing flames of the fire, listening to the deep breaths of the Dragon Man—Arthur Pendragon. He worried. If there was one thing his mother had drilled into him over the years it was never, ever to show anyone his magic, and especially not anyone from Camelot. The king, she'd said, hated magic users. He killed them and drove them out of his kingdom. She always talked with such vehemence that Merlin sensed a personal story, though he never weaseled it out of her.

 _And now here I am, lying next to the prince of Camelot! And he's the Dragon Man!_ He should leave now, before they figured out he had magic. But if he did, that insistent voice would come back again, he knew it.

Merlin shivered in the blanket. How he wished he could use just a smidgen of his magic to draw a flame from the fire closer to him. _No. They'll kill me._ Merlin's breath caught in his throat. _I can't stay here...but I can't go. I can't._ He let miserable tears roll down his cheeks.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So I'm usually a canon writer, but another member, Pri, set me off on the idea of a younger Merlin taken under Arthur's wing and I decided to give my first in depth AU a go. I've actually written quite a bit already and I'm enjoying the fun of playing with the characters in a different way. More to come...


	2. Welcome to Camelot

**Year One**

"Hey. Boy. Hey." Arthur shook the boy who finally roused, bleary eyed. "Time to leave."

Merlin sat up, blinking and rubbing at the top of his head. Arthur handed him a bowl.

"Eat quickly."

Merlin accepted the bowl, spooning a grainy porridge into his mouth. Arthur moved to his horse, packing up. "Where are we going?"

"We?" Arthur asked. " _I'm_ going back home. You should, too."

Merlin dropped the spoon in the bowl. "I'm going with you." His heart battered his ribs. He'd just said he was going to Camelot.

"You are _not_."

"I have no where to go."

"Ealdor."

Merlin looked down at the bowl. "I can't go home."

Arthur felt sudden realization. "They hurt you?"

"No!" Merlin spoke so forcefully, Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"What then?"

"I just...I can't go back."

Arthur shook his head, still packing.

"I can help you," Merlin said, jumping up. "I'm good at chores." He moved to roll up Arthur's pallet, but tumbled over his own feet.

Arthur laughed and pulled Merlin up by his arm. "I don't think I need a servant like you."

"Please, don't leave me here."

Arthur sighed. He could see his father now, lecturing about dragging useless waifs home. What would he do with a child? Arthur searched his mind. Gaius! The old physician hadn't had a helper in years, and he would certainly never turn down anyone in need.

Arthur stared at the boy looking hopefully at him. _I can't believe I'm even considering this!_ But, the boy had saved his life. "Roll that pallet up," Arthur instructed. "And don't fall over this time."

"I will, yes, thank you."

"Sire."

The boy cocked his head.

"When you address royalty, you say 'sire.'"

"Oh. Okay. Sire."

Arthur turned back to his horse. Heaven help the boy if he ever ran into his father!

* * *

Merlin rolled the prince's pallet up as carefully as he could, hoping to please him enough to be useful. Every so often he looked sideways at the Dragon Man. _Why do I have to go with him?_ He thought the voice might answer, but it had been silent ever since he'd left Ealdor.

Merlin handed Arthur the rolled up pallet then gobbled up his porridge and rinsed his bowl. He began to feel glad his mother had insisted he do chores without magic. Hard work came easily to him.

When everything was ready, Arthur picked him up under the arms and set him on his horse, then swung up himself. Merlin threw his arms around the prince's waist.

"Oi!" Arthur exclaimed. "Haven't you ever ridden before?"

"Y-Yes," Merlin stammered. He felt so high up. "A...pony."

Arthur laughed loudly. "Loosen up a little."

Merlin tried to slacken his hold.

"Picked up a stray, have you?" one of the knights chided as he passed by Arthur.

Arthur ignored him and followed after, beginning the journey home. "What's your name?"

"Name?" Merlin asked, still a bit frightened.

"If I'm taking you all the way to Camelot, I'd like to know your name."

"Merlin."

"Merlin," Arthur said. "I don't think I've ever met anyone with that name."

"M-mother named me."

"Did she? What about your father?"

"I don't have a father."

Arthur didn't reply for a moment. Merlin thought he'd felt the prince tense up. "I don't have a mother."

"What happened to her?"

"She died." His voice was quiet.

"Oh. Sorry."

"What about your father?"

"I don't know. Mother doesn't talk about him." He wished she would. He'd always wondered where his magic came from. His mother didn't have any. She claimed she didn't know where he'd gotten it from, but he thought it must have something to do with the father he'd never known.

"Well, _Mer_ lin, I want you to listen closely."

"Yes...sire."

"Very good. When we get to Camelot, I'm going to take you to Gaius. He's a good man. I've known him my whole life. He'll take care of you."

"Thank you," Merlin effused, though a large part of him was scared to be heading towards a place he'd never seen where he'd be dropped in the hands of someone he'd never met.

* * *

The trip back to Camelot took a day and a half. In that time, Arthur found Merlin overly eager to please him. He didn't get much more information out of the boy concerning himself. And although he enjoyed the company, he was going to be glad when he could hand Merlin over to someone else. A child was too much of a burden.

They reached Camelot late in the afternoon. As they neared the courtyard, Arthur heard his father giving a speech. The courtyard was packed with people. _Must be another execution_. Nothing brought out the people more than a gory display.

When they entered the courtyard, Merlin shifted behind him. Arthur looked over his shoulder to see the boy craning his neck to look. Arthur stopped his horse as the crowd became too thick to navigate. He looked up at his father standing on a balcony.

"This man is adjudged guilty of conspiring to use enchantments and magic. By the laws of Camelot, such practices are banned on penalty of death. I pride myself as a fair and just king, but for the crime of sorcery, there is but one sentence I can pass."

Arthur moved his gaze to the criminal, kneeling and laying his head across a block. He heard Merlin gasp. The boy's arms tightened around Arthur's waist, and his head pressed hard into his back. Arthur glanced behind again to see Merlin's face turned away. He heard the heavy thud of an axe.

The people began to disperse, their entertainment over. Arthur tapped his heels into his horse's sides, directing it to the steps that led into the castle. He glanced up. His father had noticed him and raised his hand in greeting. Arthur raised his own hand in return. He dismounted and reached up for Merlin. The boy let himself be pulled down, but his head was bowed. Arthur noticed tears on his pale cheeks.

 _How stupid of me!_ Arthur chided himself. The boy had probably never witnessed an execution. "Hey, come on," he said, reaching down to flick the tears off the boy's face with a gloved hand. "He was a sorcerer."

Merlin raised his eyes and Arthur felt a little disconcerted for a moment. Those blue depths seemed to almost be accusing him. "He was killed because he had magic."

"Magic is evil. Magic almost destroyed Camelot." How could this boy not know magic couldn't be tolerated? Cenred didn't approve of magic either as far as Arthur knew. "He deserved to die," Arthur concluded.

The boy lowered his head once more. _He'd better toughen up if he ever wants to get by in this world_ , Arthur thought to himself.

King Uther appeared on the steps. He descended them as fast as he could, greeting his son with a warm embrace. "Arthur! Welcome home!"

"Hello, father," Arthur greeted.

Uther pulled back, clasping Arthur's shoulders. "Did you complete your mission?"

Arthur nodded. "The Druid camp was destroyed."

"Good," Uther declared. He looked downwards. Arthur felt someone pressing close to him. "Who is this?"

"A boy, father. I found him in the woods."

"And you brought him here?"

Arthur decided to leave out the fact the boy had taken a blow meant for him. He didn't really want to admit to his father he'd needed to be saved in battle by a child. "He's alone."

"We don't have room for stray children."

They had more than enough room, but Arthur heard what his father really meant: poor stray children don't belong in the castle. "I plan to take him to Gaius."

"Gaius?" Uther looked thoughtful. He nodded. "He might appreciate a messenger boy."

"If anything," Arthur added, "it will keep the boy off the streets and out of trouble."

"Yes. Good thinking, Arthur."

Arthur felt relieved. He'd avoided a lecture _and_ received praise from his father.

"Take him to Gaius, wash up, then come see me to report."

"Yes, father."

Uther turned, climbing back up the steps.

* * *

Merlin followed close to Arthur as the prince led him through the halls of the castle. He stared every which way. He'd never seen such splendor. The castle was so white and clean. Decorative banners and statues caught his eyes as they walked. He could hardly take it all in.

They came to a spiral staircase. They weaved around and around until they reached the top, then walked a short distance to a door. Arthur knocked loudly.

"Come in," a voice called out.

Arthur pushed open the door and stepped inside. "Gaius."

"Arthur. Welcome back."

"Thank you."

Merlin stood behind Arthur, peering around at an old man in a robe. His arm was suddenly gripped tightly as Arthur pulled him in front.

"I found this on the expedition."

The old man raised his right eyebrow in interest and surprise.

"He didn't have anywhere to go, and I thought you might be able to use him."

Merlin's heart thumped as the old man moved towards him. He stopped and reached down to tip Merlin's chin up. He turned his face back and forth to get a good look at him, then dropped his hand.

"I suppose I could," Gaius said. "Can you keep your nose clean and be quiet, boy?"

Merlin swallowed and nodded.

Gaius pointed to a set of stairs. "You can take the room there. Wash up and come back to me."

Merlin craned his neck up at Arthur.

"Go on," Arthur said.

Merlin ambled across the room, staring at the clutter of bottles, parchments, books, and trinkets of all kinds. He heard them talking about him.

"He'll need clothing. I can arrange that and send it to you," Arthur said.

"What do you know about him?"

"He's from Ealdor in Cenred's kingdom."

"Ealdor?" Gaius sounded intrigued.

"I don't know much more. He's a hard worker. I think you'll find him satisfactory."

Merlin climbed the set of stairs, then pushed open a door. A small room met his eyes, and yet, it was far bigger and more luxurious than home. He paced around the room. There was a bed and a washstand. Other than that, it seemed the old man, Gaius, used it for storage; much of what he'd seen in the main room was repeated here.

Merlin moved to the window. He peered out at a breathtaking view.

 _Welcome to Camelot, Merlin._

Merlin whirled around. No one was in the room. He put a hand to his head. The voice had returned.

* * *

Gaius closed the door behind Arthur, then turned to stare at the steps to the storage room. His last assistant had left six years ago. He hadn't bothered to replace him, finding the quiet to his liking. Still, if the child could behave himself, he certainly wouldn't turn away a good messenger, or someone to do the chores he lacked the time to complete. He'd been feeling achier and slower these days.

Gaius ambled over to the steps, climbing them slowly. Arthur had told him the boy's name. "Merlin?" He pushed open the door to find the boy laying on the bed, arms wrapped around himself. He looked up, and Gaius saw fear in his eyes.

Gaius tried to smile as kindly as possible. He walked into the room and sat at the end of the bed, placing a hand on one of the boy's legs. "I won't harm you. I promise."

The boy nodded, but didn't speak. Gaius stared at his face. It was lean with high cheekbones. His hair was raven black. He reminded Gaius of someone he'd known long ago, but that man he assumed dead.

"Did you wash?"

The boy pulled himself up. "I forgot."

"It's alright. You can do it now."

Merlin stood and walked to the washstand. He stared at it uncertainly. Gaius moved over to him. "Here." He picked up a cloth laying next to a bowl. "You do it like this." He poured some water from a pitcher into the bowl, then dipped the cloth in. He wrung it out and pressed the cloth to Merlin's face, rubbing back and froth and behind his neck.

"We only have a rain barrel at home," Merlin commented.

"You'll find Camelot much different compared to Ealdor." Gaius handed the cloth to Merlin. "Are you hungry?" He moved back towards the door. Merlin trailed after him.

"A little."

"Then," Gaius stopped at the door. "Take off your shirt and wash up. I'll have something waiting for you."

Merlin grinned at him and Gaius noted the boy's easy smile. He smiled back, then began to descend the stairs.

Gaius was never really sure later what happened, but he somehow tripped and began to fall down the stairs. His mind readied himself for a crash and pain, but then he found himself floating in the air, hovering above the steps. He hardly had a moment to register the golden gleam in the boy's eyes as he landed upright on the last step.

Gaius whipped his head to the boy. Merlin stared at him wide eyed.

"You have magic," Gaius whispered in awe.

Merlin seemed to suddenly understand what he'd done. He sank to the floor, pulling his knees into his chest, and burying his head in his hands. "Please don't kill me," his shaky voice pleaded.


	3. A Secret Shared

Merlin cowered at the top step of what was supposed to be his bedchamber. He trembled from head to foot, wondering how badly it hurt to have your head chopped off. He heard Gaius climbing the stairs again. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyelids, waiting for rough hands to drag him away to death.

He was shocked when a gentle hand laid on his shoulder. He looked up. Gaius had sat down next to him, his blue eyes looking sorrowful. "I won't kill you."

"The king will."

"Not if he doesn't know." Gaius smiled gently. He reached out and placed a hand behind Merlin's head, patting it. "Dear boy, to come here of all places in the world. I should get you out tonight."

"I...I don't think I can leave."

Gaius raised his right eyebrow again. It seemed to be something of a habit. "I suppose you want to avoid the streets."

Merlin bobbed his head up and down and decided it would probably be better not to mention the voice.

"How did you learn magic? I wouldn't think anyone in Ealdor would study it."

"I didn't study it," Merlin said. "I was born with it."

Gaius let go his head and pulled back, scrutinizing him. " _Born_ with it?"

Merlin nodded again.

Gaius raised a hand to his head, his eyes troubled. He glanced back at the stairs. "How did you do that?"

"I don't really know. I just...do it."

"Can you control your magic?"

Merlin twisted his lips. "I can, but..."

"You must control it here. You can never use it."

"But..."

" _No_ exceptions. Do you understand?"

Merlin nodded.

"I'd like a verbal response."

"I understand."

"Do you lie?"

Merlin creased his own brow. Why would the old physician ask that? "Everyone lies sometimes," Merlin answered honestly.

A small smile appeared on Gaius' lips. "I want you to promise me you will not use magic, and I do not want you to lie."

Merlin blinked his blue eyes, thinking. He would try his hardest not to use it, but sometimes, it felt like it just had to come out. "I won't use it," he said, hoping he told the truth.

Gaius stood up. "You won't come into contact with the king or prince much, so I think we can avoid any undue suspicion. Wash up and come down."

Merlin waited until Gaius reached the bottom of the stairs before returning to the washstand.

* * *

Gaius wandered back into his chamber. He strode hastily to a book shelf and unlocked a small box. He dug inside for a time, then pulled out a parchment and unfolded it. _Gaius_ , he read, _I am safe for now. I won't tell you where I am except to say I made it across the border. I do not believe I will be followed here. Thank you, friend, for your sacrifice and kindness._ There was no signature.

Gaius glanced back at the stairs. Ealdor was just across the border in Cenred's kingdom. Gaius shook his head. It couldn't be. It had been years. The resemblance must be happenstance.

But what of the prophecy? Born with magic, the boy said. He had to be wrong. He was young. Maybe he just didn't remember he'd been taught.

Gaius folded the letter and placed it back in the box, re-locking it. He moved over to tear some pieces of bread for the boy. _What are you doing, Gaius? He has magic! And he's in the castle near a man who would take even the life of a child!_ Gaius looked back at the stairs. But the boy was so helpless. Even if he found someone to take him in, how could he guarantee his safety? Who else would be able to monitor the use of his magic?

Gaius dropped the bread on a plate with a dollop of butter. He looked down, letting the guilt he usually pushed away surface. How many children had he watched die as he stood to the side? _This child will not die!_ he vowed to himself. He would make up for what he had done.

* * *

Merlin spent his first week in the castle traipsing all over it, learning its layout so he'd be able to run errands for Gaius. He didn't see Arthur at all which was a good and a bad thing. The voice hadn't spoken to him again. Once he'd shouted out in his room that he was here, he'd found the Dragon Man. What now? But the voice didn't answer.

Today Gaius had sent him to the Lady Morgana, who Merlin had learned was a ward of the king. He retraced steps he'd taken, remembering the way as Gaius had described it to him. When he found the right door, he knocked. He waited a moment, but no one answered. "My lady?" he called out. Gaius had taught him that he should call all noble women ladies.

Merlin weighed the medicine bottle in his hand. He grabbed the door handle and pushed the door open. He wandered in, staring around at the most opulent room he had ever seen. He set the bottle on a table, but instead of leaving, he moved to the bed. He glanced every which way, then leaped onto it. He ran his hands over the cover. It was so soft! He lay back, his head on the pillow.

"What are you doing?" a harsh voice cried out.

Merlin bolted upright. A girl stood just inside the room, her hands on her hips, her face an angry scowl. Merlin scooted to the edge and slipped off the bed. "I...just...wanted to try it...my lady."

The girl stared at him for a moment, then giggled. "I'm _not_ a lady."

"Well, you're beautiful like one."

The girl looked startled, then turned her face away from him. She _was_ pretty. He'd never seen a girl so pretty with her curly dark hair and flawless brown skin.

"Who are you then?"

The girl looked back at him. "I'm only a maid. Who are you?"

"Merlin." Merlin held out his hand.

The girl laughed again and briefly held it before letting go. "Women don't usually hold men's hands in greeting."

"I'm a boy, not a man. And you're a girl." Merlin flashed a smile.

The girl shook her head. "You're different."

"What's _your_ name?" Merlin asked, ignoring her statement.

"Guinevere. But you can call me Gwen. Almost everybody does."

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen. You ask a lot of questions." The girl moved over to the bed, smoothing out the cover again.

"Maybe we can be friends. I'm helping Gaius."

"Oh, Gaius!" the girl sounded delighted when she spoke his name. "Are you related to him?"

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

"Prince Arthur brought me."

"Which of the noble houses do you come from?" Her brow lifted as she scanned his simple clothing.

Now Merlin laughed. "I'm not noble." He'd learned that meant rich, or something like that.

"Then, why did Arthur bring you?"

"I was...lost in the woods."

Gwen's expression turned to astonishment. "Prince Arthur brought home a lost boy?"

Merlin nodded.

She looked back to the bed, her hands smoothing spots she'd already gone over.

"Maybe...we can be friends," Merlin suggested, his hands becoming a little clammy as he asked.

The girl turned her head to him. "Will I see you often? The castle's pretty big."

"I can find you if I need to." Merlin felt his cheeks warm and rubbed at them.

The girl smiled shyly. "I work a lot, but if you find me, then, yes, we can be friends."

"Gwen!" a new voice spoke from the door.

The girl turned, curtsied, and bowed her head. Merlin turned and his breath caught in his throat. He had thought Gwen the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen...until now. A woman with flowing raven hair, milky white skin, telling eyes, and red lips looked to him. He stared in awe, unable to take his eyes from her.

"My lady," Gwen greeted.

The angel moved into the room and stopped in front of Merlin. "Who are you?"

"M-M-Merlin."

The woman smiled and her eyes danced. "Ah. Arthur's find." She leaned down to meet him at eye level. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Merlin nodded dumbly.

"You're supposed to bow at least a little when a lady appears," she whispered conspiratorially.

Merlin stared, then did his best, bending over at the waist.

The woman smiled widely at him. "Very good." She stood up again. "Now, you came from Gaius, I assume?"

Merlin nodded, eyes still wide.

The woman laughed. She touched his shoulder and Merlin's skin tingled. "I see the medicine on the table. You may go now." Merlin stumbled back to the door. "Gwen," the woman spoke to her maid. "I'd like something to eat. See what is available."

"Yes, my lady." Merlin heard Gwen's steps as she came behind him and closed the door. "You think she's beautiful, don't you?"

Merlin turned to her. "Yeah."

"She is. All the men in the court drool over her like love hungry dogs." Gwen sighed. "I'll never be as pretty as her."

Merlin shook his head.

"Well, thank you very much," Gwen commented haughtily at his gesture.

"Oh, I didn't mean...I still think you're pretty."

"But not beautiful?"

"Uh..."

Gwen giggled again. "I think I like you, Merlin, even if you are a little rude. Everyone here is so guarded all the time. You seem...honest."

Merlin assumed that was a compliment. Honesty was good, right?

* * *

Gaius spent dinner doing what he'd done every day in the last week: answering Merlin's numerous questions. The boy was bursting with inquiries about the castle, the town, and its people. At first, it had annoyed Gaius, but he found after a week when Merlin wasn't around in his chambers prattling on about something or another, the chamber felt too quiet.

"Lady Morgana's father died and Uther took her in," Gaius explained.

"How did he die?"

"In battle."

"How old was she when she came here?"

"Ten years old."

"Do you know Gwen? I met her today."

"Gwen is a very good girl. I know her."

"Lady Morgana didn't look sick. Why does she need medicine?"

"Merlin! You'll never to be able to eat if you don't close your mouth every once in a while!"

Merlin spooned food into his mouth and snapped his mouth shut. He managed to keep quiet for only a minute. "Gaius?"

Gaius sighed. "Yes?"

"Why did the king kill the Druids?"

Gaius laid his spoon in his bowl. The boy's tone had turned serious.

"I know they have magic, but...they were kind to me." His eyes brimmed with tears.

"The Druids _are_ a peaceful people," Gaius said quietly.

"Then why would he want to hurt them?"

"Magic is enough reason for him."

"But..."

"Merlin. We must never discuss magic. Do not ever talk about it to me or anyone."

Merlin bowed his head and continued to eat.

Gaius studied his creased brows. The poor boy. Not only did he have to suppress his magic, he couldn't even talk about it. Still, he had managed to go a week without using his magic and as far as Gaius knew, he'd obeyed his every word. The boy just might make it in Camelot after all.

"I don't think Prince Arthur wanted to kill them," Merlin whispered.

Gaius raised his characteristic eyebrow. "Why do you think that?"

"He said to arrest them, not kill them."

"You were there?"

Merlin nodded. "I...ran away."

"Prince Arthur wanted to arrest them."

"Yeah. But then, some of them started to fight back, I think. I couldn't see well."

Gaius stared into his bowl, wondering. Prince Arthur made all efforts to please his father, but sometimes Gaius thought he saw a different heart somewhere inside. He looked at Merlin chewing his dinner. He'd brought back a lost boy after all, something his father never would have done.

* * *

Merlin stared out his window. He still couldn't get over how bright the stars looked from so high up. He leaned out the window, craning his neck up. Maybe he could get to the roof. Wouldn't it look amazing up there?

He twisted his hands together. He'd promised Gaius he wouldn't use his magic...but, what really was the harm in using it when no one could see it? Everyone was asleep.

Merlin put a foot on the sill.

 _Merlin!_

Merlin fell back inside. His eyes darted around the room. "W-where are you?"

 _I am near._

"I found the Dragon Man. What am I supposed to do?"

 _Wait._

"Wait for what?"

 _Wait, Merlin. Soon you will know._

"Please, just tell me."

The voice was silent.

Merlin sauntered over to his bed and laid back. He felt hot tears welling. He'd never told anyone about the voice, not even his mother. Sometimes he was sure he was crazy. And even at his age he knew if he was crazy, if all this stuff about the Dragon Man was just in his head, he had come to the worst place in the world for him.

Merlin rolled over on his bed. A sudden image of the maid Gwen passed through his mind. He smiled and wiped at his tears. Well, even if it was the worst place for someone with magic, it did have Gwen. He thought it just possible he might make another friend. And maybe he could tell her about his magic.

His eyes rolled to the door. Gaius had said not to tell anyone, but his mother had said that, too, and he'd told Will. Will had kept his secret. Maybe Gwen would, too, but he'd wait and see if he could trust her.

 _Merlin!_ Merlin jumped, sitting up. _No one else must know you have magic or all is ruined._

Merlin hugged his knees into his chest, not inquiring into what the voice had just said, but trembling in fear.


	4. Broken Promise

The castle was all atwitter. A noble entourage was arriving today—Lord Baudemagus of Gorre and his retinue. They were allies of Uther, and the king had ordered everything to be cleaned and in perfect order. Merlin had made a few deliveries for Gaius, observing the preparations throughout the castle with interest. He had been here a month, and this would be the first time he'd seen a noble visit.

"Gwen!" Merlin called out, catching sight of the girl's yellow dress as she turned a corner.

Gwen backed up to look at him. "I can't do anything today, Merlin. Too busy." She balanced a stack of linens in her hands.

Merlin sauntered up to her. "I just wondered if you know anything about Lord Baudemagus and wanted to give you this." He handed Gwen a perfect blue flower.

Gwen laughed and put it behind her ear. "Really, you don't have to give me a gift every time you see me."

"Well, we are friends, and I want you to know that."

"I know, but I _do_ have to go."

"I'll walk with you." He paced next to her, glancing at servants passing back and forth. "Have you ever seen Baudemagus?"

"He visits every year." Her tone had become guarded.

"You don't like him?"

"I haven't see him much. I don't know." Her beautiful dark eyes were troubled.

"Then, what's wrong?"

Gwen looked at him from the corner of her eye. She glanced around them. No one was near at the moment. "His heir is one year older than me."

"So?"

"He's...taken a liking to me."

"That's good, isn't it? I mean, if you married a noble..."

"I can't marry a noble! I'm a servant."

"I don't see why that matters," Merlin said. "If you love someone, you should marry them."

Gwen shook her head. "Your world is always too simple, Merlin. Though, I kind of like it."

"So you love him?"

"No," Gwen said, her voice quiet and tight.

"Then..."

"I don't like the way he looks at me," Gwen said, brushing back an errant hair.

Merlin stopped walking. He may have been young, but even he knew what she meant. "Did he hurt you?"

Gwen shook her head. "He's never done anything, but I think if we weren't in Camelot, he might. He's not a nice boy."

"Stay away from him," Merlin said, his own tone now dead serious.

"I won't see him much. Maybe at the banquet." Gwen stopped in front of a guest room. "I have to put on the sheets."

Merlin smiled at her and waved good-bye, heading back to Gaius.

* * *

When Baudemagus arrived, Merlin observed from his tower window. He couldn't see much from afar, but it was a large group of people. Part of him wanted to run down to the courtyard to get a better look, but he'd been trying to stay as far away from King Uther as possible. He'd caught sight of Prince Arthur once or twice, but the prince hadn't acknowledged him in any way.

The voice had gone silent again, and Merlin had fallen into the rhythm of the castle. He found he rather liked being here. There was always so much going on, things to look at, places to explore. It was way more interesting than Ealdor.

Sometimes he thought of his mother and felt bad. He had told Will to tell her why he left, but he knew she'd worry anyway. Maybe even cry. But he'd had to leave. Someday he'd go back and explain everything.

* * *

"If anyone needs me, come get me from the feast," Gaius instructed as he set a bowl down in front of Merlin.

"Can't I come with you?"

"I'm afraid not. Physician's messenger boys aren't invited to feasts." Gaius smiled. "But I'll try to sneak you some of the food."

Merlin grinned. Gaius had dressed in his very best robe and even combed his long hair. Merlin watched him leave, then turned to his dinner. He ate quickly. He spent some time wandering the room, sticking his nose into nooks and crannies. He'd already asked Gaius about pretty much everything in the room, but he still found hidden objects here and there.

He'd been fiddling with a skull on one shelf, pretending to make it talk, when he noticed a strange outline on the wall behind it. He pulled the skull from the shelf and peered at the outline. Hum...He pressed his hand to it and felt an electric current, a magical current. He pressed farther. It felt a little like solid wall at first, then mud as he pushed.

Merlin looked to the door. He wasn't really _using_ magic, just flaring it. He let his magic rise to the surface, focusing it on his hand. His hand pushed through the magic illusion. He felt something big and leathery. He pulled a book out.

Merlin slid to the floor, sitting cross-legged. He opened the book and was instantly taken with its beauty. He turned page after page of gilded drawings. Some were scary, some were whimsical, most were confusing. He didn't recognize many of the drawings, and couldn't figure out if they were meant to be truth or fiction. Most of the pages contained writing he couldn't read. In fact, he couldn't read at all. Still, the book fascinated him and before he knew it, he'd spent the night away gazing at it.

Merlin perked up when he caught the sound of footsteps outside the door. He slammed the book closed, jumped up, and quickly pushed it back into its hiding place. When the door opened, he had just returned the skull to the shelf.

"I thought you might be in bed," Gaius said as he entered, yawning.

Merlin turned, his hands behind his back. "No one came," he reported.

"You must have been bored."

Merlin shrugged.

"It's good you're up anyway. I need you to deliver something."

"Now?"

Gaius walked over to a a series of shelves full of tonics. "Lord Baudemagus has a large headache." He pulled a bottle off the shelf, picking up a smaller one and pouring a liquid into it. "I think if he didn't consume so much wine, he wouldn't have it, but he insisted on an aid regardless."

Gaius turned. He set a wrapped cloth on the table. "Deliver this," he handed the bottle to Merlin, "and you can come back and eat the venison pie in that cloth."

Merlin was out the door like a shot.

* * *

Merlin approached the eastern guest quarters almost at a run. He found the door where he knew the lord would reside. He knocked softly.

"Enter," a loud voice cried out.

Merlin opened the door and stepped inside. Baudemagus was a man with a large girth and a huge bushy beard. His thick eyebrows rose when he saw the boy.

"What d'you want?" he slurred out.

Merlin held out the tonic. "This is from Gaius, my lord."

"Ah. Yes. Bring it here."

Merlin walked over, handed it to him, and retraced his steps back to the door.

"Get my son."

Merlin looked back. "My lord?"

"Ar'you deaf, boy? Get my son. He's in the room across the hall."

"Yes, my lord." Merlin left and crossed the hall. He knocked. There was no answer. He pushed open the door, but the room was dark and empty. He turned, unsure what to do, when he heard voices. They weren't too far away in an alcove. He moved slowly down the hall and stopped to listen.

"Tell him I'm going out tonight."

"I can't lie to him."

"You'd better or when we get home, I'll give you a worse flogging than the last time."

"Please..."

"Do it."

"She's just a servant."

"That's the trouble with you, Morris. You forget your station. Go."

Merlin backed up, pretending to be just coming down the hall when a youth appeared. His clothing was simple. He must be a servant then. Another youth dressed in noble attire exited as well, heading down the hall.

"What are you doing here?" the servant asked Merlin.

"I just delivered a tonic from Gaius," Merlin said, watching the retreating back of the noble youth.

"Gaius?"

"Court physician."

"Oh. Yes."

"Who is that?" Merlin asked, pointing.

The servant didn't look back. "Lord Meleagant."

"Lord Baudemagus said he wanted me to get his son."

The servant swallowed. "I'll tell him. Go."

Merlin hurried down the hall, every warning bell in his head pealing insistently.

* * *

Merlin followed at a distance as Meleagant crossed the castle. He moved with sure steps, clearly knowing exactly where he was going. He finally left the castle from a side door. Merlin kept close. He was heading to the east gardens.

He walked for a time between the sculpted bushes and exotic plants. He finally stopped at a pool. Not too long after, a couple torches appeared and two men...with Gwen between them.

Merlin's heart dropped. She was gagged. He crept forward, pressing into a bush.

"Will she scream?" Meleagant asked. The men shook their heads. Meleagant gripped Gwen's chin. "You scream, I'll kill your father."

Merlin felt rage boiling inside his chest to hear Gwen's father, a blacksmith in the town, threatened.

Meleagant reached behind Gwen's neck and released the gag. She stared up at him in fear, but didn't make a noise. "Good," Meleagant said. He ran a hand around her neck, then up her cheek. He handed the gag to one of the men. "Move over there, but keep the torches lit. Watch if you want."

The men moved off as Meleagant began to remove his jacket.

Merlin felt like his heart would burst out of his chest. He had promised Gaius he wouldn't use magic, but Gaius didn't see this. He had to stop it. He glanced around the garden. He spied a stone statue of a knight to the side. His lids closed, summoning the magic inside him. He opened golden eyes. The statue scooted forward and toppled towards Meleagant.

Gwen cried out. Meleagant looked up right as the statue fell on him. He cried out in pain. The men with the torches ran over to him. Merlin took the opportunity to dash out from the dark, grab Gwen's hand, and pull her back through the garden towards the castle.

"Merlin!" Gwen exclaimed. He didn't answer. He just kept pulling her along with him until they made it back to the side door. He shut it and ran up the stairs, Gwen's hand still in his. He stopped when they reached a hall with multiple windows. He leaned against the wall, breathing hard.

"A..are...are you alright?" he breathed out.

Gwen nodded shakily. "I don't know...how it happened...A statue fell."

"I saw," Merlin said.

"Why were you out there?

Merlin stared at her. "Just strolling."

Tears welled in her eyes. "Thank you."

Merlin nodded to her. "You should go back to Morgana's rooms. Fast."

Gwen pushed herself to a stand and hurried down the hall.

* * *

Merlin had just entered Gaius' chamber when running footfalls sounded in the hall. The servant he'd seen earlier burst through the door. "Physician!"

Gaius, who had already changed into his nightshirt, stood up abruptly from his bed.

"Lord Meleagant has been injured!"

Gaius grabbed his bag. "What happened?"

"A statue fell on him. His arm is broken, I fear."

Gaius grabbed a ream of cloth and stuffed it into the bag. He moved to the door with the servant. He looked back at Merlin. "You can stay here. Eat your pie."

Merlin sank down at the table and unwrapped the pie. He wasn't very hungry anymore.

* * *

The next morning, the story of Meleagant's injury swirled around the castle. Merlin heard it from multiple sources. To his relief, no one could explain how the statue had fallen. What was certain was Meleagant had broken his arm. Merlin tried not to smile every time someone told him that.

Meleagant didn't leave his room for a couple days. The day he did, Merlin heard through the grapevine he had lunched with King Uther and Prince Arthur. Merlin wondered idly what Arthur thought of Meleagant. He hoped he hated him.

As it happened, Gaius released him from work the day Meleagant left his rooms. Merlin made his usual rounds, stopping by the kitchens to wheedle a sweet out of the cook, talking to Geoffrey in the library who told him adventurous stories of Camelot's past, and finding Gwen to chat and laugh.

Gwen had been reserved, but her company was still enjoyable. She shyly thanked Merlin again, but he just wanted to make sure she was staying far away from Meleagant. She assured that she was and was certain she wouldn't have any cause to see him again for the rest of the visit.

Merlin finally left the castle. It was a bright day with a cool breeze. Perfect for running around the fields and finding other children to play with. Unfortunately, he happened to pass the knights' training yard. They weren't out at the moment, but as he drew close he sighted Meleagant and several other youths from the entourage. Merlin smirked at Meleagant's arm in a sling, until he saw that the group was laughing uproariously at his youthful servant.

The servant was carrying a shield and the youths were throwing knives his way. The youth was clearly terrified, but the nobles teased him mercilessly.

"Bet he's wetting himself!" one cried out.

"He wets his bed every night," Meleagant said. "Don't you, Morris?"

"I...I..."

"Well?"

The servant looked embarrassed and resigned. "Yes, my lord."

The youths chortled.

"Hey, Morris!" another cried out. "We're done. You can stop carrying that shield."

Morris lowered it, but Meleagant suddenly threw another knife. The servant raised the shield back up just in time.

Merlin's throat tightened, and his gut twisted. He spoke lowly. "Stop it." The youths didn't turn to him. He yelled. "Stop!"

Meleagant and his friends turned, giving Merlin his first good look at the noble. He wasn't too tall, but large in girth like his father. He looked much older than fifteen, and he was sending daggers with his eyes at Merlin.

"Go away, simpleton," Meleagant ordered.

"Stop bothering him!" Merlin shouted.

Meleagant held out his hand to one of the other youths who gave him a knife. Meleagant flipped it adeptly. "Want to take his place? Morris! Give this simpleton the shield."

The servant moved towards him and held out the shield. Merlin didn't reach for it.

"Take it, boy!" Meleagant commanded.

"No." Merlin stared him down.

Meleagant laughed. "Who do you think you are?"

"Not a noble ass like you."

Meleagant's eyes widened, then burned fire. Despite his injured arm, he rushed at Merlin with the knife. Merlin backed up, seeing time slow as he ducked and weaved from the attack. With every miss, Meleagant grew more angry and less careful. Merlin spied a bucket nearby. He maneuvered them near it, then made sure he used a little magical force to push Meleagant into it. Meleagant went sprawling. Merlin ran up to him and pushed his foot into his chest.

"Don't ever bother him or Gwen again."

Meleagant's eyes flamed further. "She told you," he growled.

"You touch her, I'll make sure you're sorry."

Meleagant cried out, gripping Merlin's foot. He pushed back hard, knocking him away. He stood to thrust the knife out, but Merlin used his own lanky height to his advantage, pulling back his fist and letting it careen into the noble's face. Merlin heard a pop, and Meleagant's nose began to bleed.

Merlin backed up, suddenly scared. He hadn't meant to draw blood. The other youths started towards him. Merlin turned and ran. He made it back to the castle and Gaius' chambers.

"Merlin?" Gaius asked.

"Hi," he murmured, hurrying to the stairs that led to his room.

* * *

Gaius pushed open Merlin's door. The boy was sitting on his bed, cradling his right hand to his chest. Gaius sat down on the bed and pulled Merlin's hand out of his grasp. The knuckles were reddened, maybe would even bruise. "What happened?"

Merlin shrugged.

"Tell me."

Tears appeared in Merlin's eyes. "I...used magic," he confessed, then began to sob.

Gaius sucked in a breath. "Did anyone see you?"

Merlin shook his head. "No one knows." He looked up into Gaius' eyes, still crying. "I'm sorry, but I had to."

"Merlin..."

"Meleagant was going to hurt Gwen!" Merlin blurted out. "He had her in the garden and he was going to...going to..."

"I understand what you mean," Gaius said. "The statue falling. Was that your doing?"

Merlin nodded. "I had to help her. I had to."

Gaius put an arm around the sobbing boy's shoulders. "Stop crying. There's no harm done."

"I hit him."

"Meleagant?"

Merlin nodded.

"Because he was going to hurt Gwen? He hasn't told anyone, so..."

"No. Just now."

"What?" Gaius asked, grasping the boy's shoulders. "Why?"

"He was going to hurt someone else. He was being awful, and I told him to stop, but he wouldn't."

Gaius shook him gently. "Merlin, you can't do that!"

"I had to."

Pounding steps sounded in Gaius' chamber. The physician looked to the bedchamber door. Two soldiers had appeared. Gaius stood. "Yes?"

"The boy is wanted in the throne room."

Gaius looked at Merlin whose face had gone white. "Why is he needed?"

The soldiers didn't answer. One stepped forward and grabbed Merlin by the back of his jacket, hauling him out of the room.


	5. The Dragon's Call

Merlin couldn't banish his fear as he was dragged through a set of double doors and thrown to the floor in front of the king he hadn't laid eyes on since he first came to the castle. He didn't dare look up, and he was shaking so badly he could hardly control his movements.

"Is this the boy?" King Uther's deep voice asked.

"Yes." Merlin recognized Meleagant's arrogant tone.

"Look at me, boy!" Uther roared.

Merlin forced his head up to look at the king who had killed children. What would he do to him?

"Did you attack Lord Meleagant?"

"He attacked me," Merlin squeaked out.

"That's a lie!" Meleagant shouted. "Look at him! Not a scratch."

Merlin turned his head slightly to see Meleagant who had a reddened nose with dried blood underneath.

"Is this what your servants are allowed to do, Uther?" This voice belonged to Lord Baudemagus.

"My king," Gaius spoke up. Only then did Merlin realize the physician had followed him. "I believe Merlin is telling the truth."

"Are you calling me a liar?" Meleagant challenged.

"Are you, Gaius?" Uther asked.

"I'm afraid in this case, I must."

"I'll have your head!" Meleagant shouted.

"I respect my physician," Uther returned. "He has served me well."

"So you accept his word over my son's?" Baudemagus challenged.

Uther raised his voice. "But in this case, he does not understand what occurred."

"Uther..." Gaius attempted.

"Not another word, Gaius," Uther warned.

"Father, may I speak?" Merlin's heart skipped at the voice he recognized as Prince Arthur's.

"What do _you_ have to say?" Uther asked in surprise.

Merlin saw Arthur's boots step up next to him. "He's a boy. Boys squabble. We all know that."

"I do not _squabble_ ," Meleagant objected.

"Arthur," Uther said sternly. "This is not a fight between boys. A servant in our household has attacked a guest and nobility."

"Merlin is new to our ways," Arthur defended. "He doesn't understand."

"He must know better than to attack nobility!"

"Please, father."

Uther stared down at Merlin. Merlin swallowed hard. Did boys who hit nobles end up on the chopping block?

"Lord Baudemagus, you may take the boy and punish him as you see fit."

Merlin's heart sank and twittered with fear as a heavy hand gripped his arm and dragged him from the throne room.

* * *

Arthur watched Lord Baudemagus haul Merlin away. He hadn't seen the boy much since he had arrived, but those blue eyes he'd stared into when his life was saved now shouted fear. He wasn't sure himself why he cared if the boy were punished, but he couldn't believe the boy had meant to harm. From what he had seen the two days after the mission to the Druid camp, the boy didn't have wickedness in his heart.

"Father," Arthur spoke again, turning back to Uther.

"Arthur, I don't see why you're defending the boy."

"Because he _is_ just a boy. He hasn't grown up in the court. He didn't even know to address me as 'sire' when I met him!"

Uther rubbed at his temple. "You've never been like this before."

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but the throne room doors burst open and Morgana appeared, marching towards the throne. "Where is Baudemagus taking Merlin?"

Uther groaned. "Not you as well, Morgana." He stared between his son, his ward, and his physician. "It's like this boy has bewitched you all."

"Merlin is a gentle soul," Morgana argued.

"Gentle souls don't attack visiting nobility," Uther ground out.

"Attacked?" Morgana asked incredulously.

"So Meleagant says," Gaius informed her.

"He doesn't just say," Uther growled, standing up from his throne. "It is his word. The word of a noble."

"Merlin would never attack anyone!" Morgana disagreed.

"And how do you know this?" Uther scoffed.

"Because I've seen him with Gwen. He's kindhearted and respectful. He's never shown a hint of anything else."

"You're too soft, Morgana," Uther muttered.

"Father..." Arthur made to speak again, but Morgana interrupted.

"He's a child! And you put him in the hands of a man who is known for harshness."

Uther's head snapped up. "Baudemagus is an ally and a friend. Do _not_ speak of him this way!"

Morgana opened her mouth, but Arthur held up his hand and shot her a warning glance not to press the matter.

"Father, you're right. The boy must be punished, but it's true he does not know much about the court. I ask that you put him in my charge. He can be trained. We do not need to dismiss him." Arthur was certain that Merlin would be thrown out the second Baudemagus was done with him.

Uther stared at Arthur. "Why do you care about an insignificant boy?"

Arthur sighed and stood up tall. "He saved my life."

"What?" Morgana blurted out.

"Saved your life?" Uther asked.

"At the Druid camp a month ago. He stepped in front of me and saved me from being crushed to death." Arthur could feel Morgana's wide smile boring into him.

"The great Prince Arthur was saved by a child?" Morgana asked, humor in her tone.

Arthur grit his teeth, but didn't look at her. "I at least owe the boy a second chance."

"The boy is a Druid." Uther's tone was dangerous.

"No," Arthur asserted. "That he was there when we took the camp was happenstance."

"Are you certain, Arthur?"

"I would never bring a Druid into Camelot. You know that."

Uther put a hand under his chin. "Saved your life? I suppose making the boy your responsibility would be good for you," he mumbled thoughtfully. He looked to his physician. "Can you spare the boy, Gaius?"

Gauis nodded.

"He can still work for Gaius," Arthur said. "I don't see I'll have him with me constantly."

Uther raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you will learn servant boys are more trouble than you think."

"Perhaps," Arthur said, waiting for his father's acceptance of the idea.

"Alright, Arthur. The boy is in your service. But be aware, from now on, I will hold you directly responsible for his actions."

Arthur nodded curtly, then turned on his heel, walking as fast as was acceptable out of the king's presence.

* * *

When Arthur reached the hallway leading to Baudemagus' guest chambers, he heard the familiar sound of a thrashing taking place. He didn't stop to knock at the lord's door, opening it abruptly to take in the scene.

Meleagant leaned against a wall, smiling devilishly. Arthur had never liked the youth. His dishonorable actions were rarely hidden. He spent feasts leering at serving girls as if they were pieces of meat. Baudemagus stood over a quivering figure, whipping his arm through the air with all his strength, a rod in his hand. Arthur's anger flared when he looked to the figure.

Arthur had no idea in what position Merlin had started, but the boy was now slumped down on the floor, his arms stretched out above him, grasping the armrests of a chair for dear life. His jacket had been removed, and Arthur flinched when the rod connected with his back. Merlin whimpered, his eyes filling with fresh tears.

Arthur crossed the room in two steps, grabbing Baudemagus' arm before he could lay down another blow. "That's enough!"

Baudemagus stared at him with wild eyes. "Your father has given me the right to punish him."

Arthur ground his jaw. "And how many times had you hit him before I entered?"

"I want my turn," Meleagant declared, pushing off the wall.

Baudemagus ripped his arm out of Arthur's grasp and raised the rod again. Arthur stood in front of Merlin. "I said enough." He infused all the authority into his royal tone he could manage. "My father has put the boy in my charge. He has been punished. Now I want him released to me."

Baudemagus seemed indecisive, his eyes moving to his son and then Arthur.

"If you want, we can go to my father to discuss this."

Baudemagus drew back, flinging the rod to the floor. "Take the whelp."

Arthur turned, grasping Merlin by the arm and pulling him to his feet. He grabbed his jacket off the table with his other hand as he passed it. He strode out the door and down the hall, moving so fast the boy lost his feet more than once, but he didn't slow until he'd reached his chambers. He opened the door, plunked Merlin's jacket down on his own table, withdrew a chair, and tossed Merlin into it. He turned and slammed his door closed.

"What were you thinking?" he shouted.

Merlin sniffed and rubbed at his eyes.

"What did you do to earn Meleagnant's wrath?"

"I...called him a noble ass."

Arthur bit his lips to hide an impulse to laugh. He coughed. "So he went after you?"

Merlin nodded pitifully. "And I...hit him."

"You can't go around hitting nobility, especially when you're nothing but a servant."

Merlin's breath hitched as he stared at Arthur.

"Why did you say it? I didn't think you'd do something so idiotic."

Merlin took a breath. "Meleagant was going to...hurt his servant...He threw a knife at him."

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, then raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Some nobility treat servants that way. You don't get to decide what is right when it comes to their servants."

"But it was wrong."

"You can't go around telling nobility what's wrong and what's right."

"A servant isn't worth less than a noble!" Merlin declared, then gasped out a residual sob.

"That. That's exactly what you can't do!" Arthur said, flinging up his hands in exasperation.

"Why?"

Arthur shook his head. "Don't you understand, Merlin. If you keep talking like this, some day you'll end up getting more than a thrashing."

Merlin wiped at his cheeks as new tears sprang up. Arthur sighed. "Stand up." Merlin obeyed. Arthur walked over and lifted up the back of Merlin's shirt. He firmed his jaw at the raised welts littering Merlin's skin. "Where else did he hit you?"

Merlin gulped, but gestured with his hand down his backside and thighs.

Arthur moved over to a cupboard on the wall. He opened it, withdrawing a cloth and a small jar. He poured some water into a bowl and moved back over to the boy who still stood as he'd been ordered. "Take off your shirt."

Merlin did as he was told, shrugging out of his shirt. Arthur dipped the cloth in water then pressed it to the wounds. Merlin sucked in a breath and braced himself with his hands on the table.

"I know it hurts," Arthur sympathized. "But this always helps. You'll feel better soon."

"You...you've been thrashed?"

Arthur chuckled. "Quite a few times in my childhood." _Though never this badly_ , he neglected to add.

When he finished wiping down Merlin's back, he opened the jar of salve and gently applied it to any open wounds. He set the cloth and jar on the table. "I'm assuming you'd like to take care of your backside yourself." He moved away to his desk to afford the boy some privacy.

After a time, he heard tentative footsteps approach the desk. He looked up. Merlin had redressed, but held his jacket over his arm. "Thank you."

Arthur tilted his head. "Thank you..."

"Sire," Merlin amended.

"Now, Merlin. My father has put you into my service. You'll still aid Gaius, but every morning you will report to me first. You have much to learn about serving in a royal household. You may go."

* * *

Merlin trudged stiffly back to Gaius' chambers. Every inch of him ached and several places stung, though Arthur had been right—the water and salve had helped. Merlin ran a hand through his hair. He knew he was supposed to be penitent, but he found he didn't care that he'd been thrashed. If that's what it took to defend people being hurt, then that's what it took. Arthur would think him stupid for thinking so, but he couldn't help it.

He pushed open the door to Gaius' room. The physician rose when he entered. "Merlin, are you alright?"

Merlin nodded, but the physician's right eyebrow rose when he walked so slowly into the room.

"What happened?"

"He beat me."

Gaius moved over to a shelf, messing with bottles. "Let's tend the wounds, then."

"Prince Arthur already did."

Gaius turned with wide eyes. "Arthur did?"

Merlin made it to the steps that led to his room. "Yeah. I'm okay, Gaius."

"Did you tell Arthur anything?"

Merlin shook his head. "He doesn't know about Gwen or my magic."

"Merlin, do you know Uther has put Arthur in charge of you?"

Merlin nodded.

"You have to be extra careful around Arthur. Under no circumstances can you use magic."

"I know," Merlin whispered as he began to climb the stairs. But by the time he reached the top, he'd already decided Gaius was wrong. It had been right to use magic to help Gwen.

Merlin collapsed on his stomach onto his bed. He closed his eyes against the pain and fell asleep.

* * *

 _Merlin! Merlin!_

Merlin's eyes flicked open. He groaned and put a hand to his head. His muscles cried out, aching all over.

 _Merlin, it is time for us to meet._

Merlin pushed himself up on his elbows and gasped. A stinging sensation rippled down his back to his toes.

 _Merlin. Come._

Merlin struggled to sit up. He bit his cheeks at his sore rear. "Why now?" he grumbled.

 _Come_ , the voice ordered more firmly.

"Where are you?"

 _Near. Go to the dungeon._

Merlin hesitated. The dungeon?

 _You will find a path past the prison cells, and then descending stairs. Come down them. I will be waiting._

Merlin stood up. He shuffled gingerly to retrieve his jacket, then decided against it. It didn't really matter what he looked like when he was sneaking about in the dead of night. He silently descended the steps to Gaius' room. The fire in the hearth was still burning. He made it to the door without knocking anything over and slipped out.

He knew where the dungeon was, though he hadn't gone down the stairs into it. He paused at the top, looking down. He'd seen guards on duty before, but none were present now. That made sense. He didn't think there was anyone in the dungeon right now.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, almost all light had disappeared. His eyes gleamed gold and a ball of light appeared in his hand. He moved forward, passing the cells. Now that he had come fully awake, his heart trembled. His light cast eerie shadows, and he was heading towards the voice, or what he thought was the voice. What if the voice wasn't real? What would he find then? Soon he'd know if he was crazy or not.

Merlin thought it a good sign that he found everything exactly as the voice described. He descended the steps, peeking every which way for a person waiting for him. The stairs ended and a short path began, but it didn't look like a castle hallway. This hall had been chipped out of rock. The path ended and Merlin stepped out into a large cavern. He held his light up high, taking in the vastness. He must be under the castle.

"Hello?" he called out quietly. His voice echoed back to him.

"We meet at last, young warlock," the voice spoke, only this time it wasn't in his head. It was coming from above. Merlin watched in amazement as a creature appeared, flapping its wings to land on an outcropping of rock in front of him. He gaped.

"You're...You're..."

"A dragon." The owner of the voice stared at him with critical eyes. "Well? Do you want to ask me anything?"

Merlin didn't know how to begin. He had a million questions. "Why do you call me a warlock?"

"That is what you are. A natural born wielder of magic."

"How can you talk to me in my mind?"

"Dragons are masters of magic. My magic is quite strong indeed."

Merlin noticed a chain attached to the dragon's ankle. "Why are you chained?"

The dragon chortled. "Because I let myself be captured to wait for you, Merlin."

"Me?"

The dragon nodded its large head. "Uther thinks his cleverness led to my imprisonment. His foolishness knows no bounds. I am the last of my kind. Uther killed all the others. I would never have come to Uther if I had not known he would not kill me."

Merlin took the information in. King Uther didn't just kill magic wielders, he killed dragons.

"Now that you are here, my purpose is being fulfilled at last."

"Is Arthur the Dragon Man?"

The dragon laughed again. "Yes, Merlin."

"Did you send me the dreams?"

"About Arthur? No. Those come from yourself."

Merlin's brow creased.

"Your destiny and Arthur's are bound together."

"Destiny?"

"Together, you will unite Albion and bring an age of peace."

"Me and Prince Arthur? But, I'm just a boy."

"You are not _just_ a boy. You are the greatest warlock ever to live."

Merlin stared up at the dragon incredulously. "I can't be."

"Whether you think you are or not does not change that you are. Until the time comes to unite Albion, you must protect and guide Arthur."

Merlin scoffed. "Did you know I was beaten?"

"My sight is limited beyond this cavern, but I am aware of what has happened to you."

" _Arthur_ helped me."

"Yes. This was unexpected, but welcome."

" _He_ helped _me_. I can't do anything to help _him_."

"You will find there are many ways to help someone."

Merlin sighed. "How can I guide Arthur? I don't know anything."

"Be yourself, Merlin."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Use who you are to aid Arthur Pendragon."

"But he hates magic. The king hates magic. I can't even use it around them."

"True. You must be careful."

Merlin twisted his lips fearfully. "Gaius said I shouldn't ever use my magic."

"Gaius is an old man with fear in his heart. He cannot stop you from being who you are."

Merlin blinked several times, thinking, then spoke softly. "So, the reason I was born with magic, that I'm different, is all to help Arthur?"

The dragon nodded.

Merlin thought back to his dreams of the Dragon Man, to the voice that had called to him for so long, to the years of his life spent suppressing his magic. Both fear and relief collided in his mind. He finally knew who he was supposed to be, but to be it, he had to walk in the lion's den.

"I will be here if you need me. You may speak to me. I will hear you, but I warn you, I may not always answer. Although destiny lies before you, you must forge your own path to it."

Merlin nodded solemnly.

"Until another time, young warlock." The dragon rose into the air, disappearing into the darkness.


	6. Learning the Ropes

Arthur looked up from his desk when his door opened. Morgana entered, a smug smile on her face. He inwardly groaned and turned back to his papers. "If you've come to gloat, I'm not in the mood."

Morgana sauntered over to his desk and perched on its edge. Arthur sent her an annoyed glance. "Why didn't you mention the boy saved your life when you first returned?" she asked, picking up the figurine of a dragon from his desk and toying with it.

"Slipped my mind," Arthur replied.

Morgana smirked. "You're such a liar, Arthur... I should have guessed something was off when you brought Merlin back with you."

Arthur leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head. "And what about you?" he redirected. "How come you're so keen to defend the boy?"

"You miss everything important that goes on around here, don't you?" Morgana set the dragon back on the desk. "Merlin's been all over this castle and already has half of the staff under his spell."

"You make it sound like he's using magic to make people fall in love with him."

"Heaven forbid," Morgana muttered.

Arthur's expression grew serious. "Careful, Morgana."

Morgana stood. "You know how I feel about Uther's persecution of innocents."

"Sorcerers."

"Who've done nothing to him."

Arthur held up his hands. "I don't want to argue about this again."

"Alright, then, I didn't come to gloat, though it's fun."

Arthur tried to look unruffled.

"I want to help you with Merlin."

"You think I'm incapable of handling a servant boy?"

"I think you won't have the time to provide all he needs."

Arthur laughed. "You're a little mother, Morgana, you know that?"

"I practiced on you."

Arthur shook his head, recalling her fussing over him when he was a boy. "I remember you _annoying_ me to death. I don't know if I want to unleash you on _another_ unsuspecting soul."

"Arthur, I really do want to help Merlin. I've seen him asking Gwen on several occasions to read to him. He can't read."

Arthur shrugged. "That's expected."

"I'm sure he'd love to learn, and you can teach him."

"I thought _you_ wanted to do something for him."

"I'll take up his need to write."

Arthur smiled. "The truth is, I'll accept all the help I can get. I hadn't planned on taking him on in the first place."

Morgana wandered back to the door.

"Morgana?" Arthur called out, trying to suppress a grin. She looked back at him. "It's a little like we're playing parents, isn't it? Want to make it official?"

Morgana laughed snidely. "You wish, Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur laughed loudly as she left. For years the court had put them together, the prince and the ward declared perfect for one another. Arthur had to admit he'd once thought that possible. She was certainly beautiful and wise, but she was a bit too bold. If they ever married, they'd kill each other in the first year. No, he was waiting for someone else, someone who fit him like a glove.

* * *

"...And the...sh...shipment of...goods will arrive soon on the 9th of...August. I will come then and...exp...exp..."

Arthur paced over to his desk, looking over Merlin's shoulder. "Expedite."

Merlin took a breath. "Expedite the...dis...distri..."

Arthur had paced away again, but guessed the word. "Distribution."

"Distribution. Your Loyal Servant, Master Euric."

"Good," Arthur commented. "Now, the next letter."

Merlin sighed, setting his elbow on the desk and propping his chin in his hand. "Why can't you ever make me read exciting stuff?"

Arthur sent a severe gaze at the boy.

"Sire," he added. He was forever forgetting to say that or "my lord" to Arthur.

"Part of being in my service, Merlin, is dealing with correspondence. I hope one day you'll be able to read letters on your own and just summarize their contents for me."

"Morgana takes my copywork from books on legends," Merlin said. "We should read more of those."

Arthur glared at him again.

"My lord," Merlin muttered. "Can't I just call you Arthur? It's your name."

Arthur let out a frustrated breath. "I swear you're going to see yourself thrashed again with those views. I hadn't thought you'd last this long after what happened three months ago."

Merlin simply stared at Arthur. He'd been every bit the humble servant to every noble that had shown up in the castle since Lord Baudemagus. He'd developed a kind of second brain that went into gear when strange nobles showed up, but with Arthur it was so much harder to remember to be formal.

Arthur stared back at Merlin. "I know it's my name, but it wouldn't do for you to go around saying it."

"What if I called you Arthur when it's just us?"

"You need to keep in the habit," Arthur said. "Now, the next letter."

Merlin let out a large sigh, and looked down at it. He was sick to death of boring kingly duties. He'd much rather do any of the chores Arthur assigned to him. At least when he was mucking out the stables or washing Arthur's clothes he was _doing_ something. No thanks to the dragon.

Merlin hadn't heard the dragon speak since their first in person meeting. So much for a great destiny. All he'd done since then was study and chores. Merlin didn't see what Arthur needed protection from. He was more than capable of taking care of himself and as for guiding him, who was teaching who to read? The longer time went on, the more he thought the dragon had lied to him.

"Merlin? Are you listening to me?"

Merlin sat up. "Hm?"

Arthur ambled over to the desk. "Alright, we can take a break from reading."

Merlin stood up and would have dashed to the door if Arthur hadn't grabbed his neckerchief, pulling him back.

"We'll go to the riding yard instead."

Merlin groaned.

* * *

Merlin's shaking hands held tightly to the horse's reins. "I...I could...clean your room...sire."

"It's spotless," Arthur said from below him. "Stop trying to get out of this. You must learn to ride."

"Can you...ride with me...like last time?"

"Come on, Merlin. Stop acting like a ninny. Just ride around the yard and come back here."

Arthur noted Merlin's scared swallow, but when he backed up, the servant boy obeyed, tapping the horse with his heels. He'd actually given Merlin the slowest horse of the lot. The boy had nothing to fear.

"Posture!" Arthur called out, frowning at Merlin's slump. Merlin rose up in the saddle. Arthur tried to keep patient. It took forever for the horse to make it back around. "There. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Merlin shook his head, but still looked terrified.

"This time, a trot."

Merlin stared at Arthur wide eyed.

"Come on."

Merlin clicked to the horse as he'd been taught and moved around the yard, this time at a faster clip. When he came back around, Arthur noted for the first time he was smiling.

"You seemed to do that well. Ready to gallop?"

"I don't know..."

"If I'm going to take you hunting with me, you'll need to be able to keep up."

"Hunting?" Merlin asked eagerly. "I get to go with you?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"Sire."

"I could use you to carry the game."

Merlin grinned from ear to ear and Arthur grinned back. He let his face fall again. He'd caught himself returning the boy's wide grin almost every time. There was something infectious about the boy's joy, like you could feel it right along with him.

"But if I don't see enough improvement here, then I'll leave you behind." Arthur smiled again when Merlin took off around the yard riding at a perfect gallop. The boy was more than capable. He just needed to get over his fear.

* * *

"I'm going on a hunt!" Merlin exclaimed when he burst into Morgana's chamber to find Gwen.

The maid was in the midst of sewing a hole in a seam of one of the ward's dresses. "And what's interesting about that?" Gwen mumbled.

Merlin strolled up to her and plopped down on the floor in front of her, his knees steepled. "I wish I could take you with us. I'm sorry you can't come."

Gwen shrugged.

"I know you want to go."

Gwen's dark eyes bore into him. "What girl cares about a silly hunt?"

"A girl who likes Arthur."

Gwen's eyebrows raised, and she turned her head away.

"You stare at him every time he enters a room, and you hardly ever look away even then."

"I do not!" Gwen protested, looking back to Merlin.

Merlin giggled. "Why don't you just talk to him?"

"You know I can't talk to him. It's not my place."

Merlin sighed. "Stupid rules."

"They're rules for a reason," Gwen said. "If there wasn't any status, there'd just be chaos."

"I bet you get that from Uther," Merlin grumbled.

"You know," Gwen said haughtily, "you keep saying these things. You can't say them, Merlin. If Uther ever heard you..."

"Gwen is right." Morgana had appeared in the doorway.

Merlin popped up off the floor into a bow. "My lady."

"I think I'm the only one who gets away with saying things like that." She moved over to Merlin and cupped his chin in her hand. "Don't even think such things, Merlin. I don't want to see you in the dungeon or worse. Uther wouldn't spare even a child he thought treasonous."

"Yes, my lady," Merlin acquiesced, but he kept staring at her, still impressed with her beauty after months.

"Get to your copywork," Morgana said kindly as she released his chin.

Merlin traipsed over to the writing desk, sinking into a seat to pick up another ancient tome about a legendary battle.

* * *

"Good, Merlin!" Arthur called out. It was four days to the hunt, and Arthur continued to put the boy through his paces when it came to riding. This time he'd taken up his own horse along with Merlin. The boy was getting good. Arthur trotted up to him. "I think you're ready."

Merlin flashed that infectious grin again, and Arthur worked to look serious and failed, smiling back.

"Don't smile so much. You're going to be working for me the whole time."

"That's okay," Merlin said.

"Merlin..."

Merlin let out a breath. "I keep forgetting! Please just let me call you Arthur."

"No," Arthur said in exasperation.

"I don't mind working for you, _sire_."

Arthur couldn't help but chuckle. "How you can look so innocent and be so insolent is beyond me. Just make sure you're on your best behavior during the hunt."

"Yes, my lord," Merlin said, though Arthur caught the hint of resentment in his eye when he used the correct address. Even he had noticed Merlin had learned to be properly submissive in the presence of other nobility, but it always seemed to be an issue with him. And yet, he didn't sense any disrespect from the boy. It felt like quite the opposite, whatever sense that made.

"Once more around, then to the stables and mucking."

"You're going to help, sire?" Merlin asked, a twinkle in his eye.

"Of course, I'm not," Arthur said. "Now get moving or I'll make you haul the manure pile to the outskirts of the city."

Merlin galloped away, rounding the yard then straight down the middle, his eyes alight, his characteristic grin reaching his eyes. Arthur smiled to watch him, pleased his personal project had come to enjoy something he did. His smile vanished when Merlin's horse suddenly reared, and the boy was thrown back, hitting the ground so hard, Arthur heard the impact from where he was.

"Merlin!" Arthur galloped to him and dismounted, paying no attention to the horse who had bolted to the other side of the yard.

Merlin coughed roughly and groaned.

Arthur put a hand on his shoulder. "Merlin? Can you talk?"

"I...yes..." He sucked in a breath. "Ow." Tears had brimmed in his eyes.

"You're hurt. Where?" Arthur asked breathlessly.

"Ankle," Merlin ground out over clenched teeth.

Arthur heard a rustle in the grass. He looked over to see a snake had meandered into the yard, the cause of the horse's fright. He stepped over to it. It was harmless. He picked it up and tossed it away, then turned back to Merlin whose face was screwed up in pain.

Arthur slid his hands under the boy, gathering him into his arms and heading as fast as could to Gaius.

* * *

"It's only a sprain," the physician declared. "You'll need to keep it wrapped for a week."

Merlin blinked back tears. He knew what that meant.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," Arthur spoke quietly. "You won't be able to go on the hunt."

Merlin nodded miserably.

"There'll be another," Arthur said, standing and ruffling Merlin's hair. "I'll leave him to you, Gaius."

Merlin looked forlornly after Arthur. After all that practice, he'd have nothing to show for it.

Gaius laid a hand on Merlin's head. "I'm sorry, Merlin, but perhaps it's for the best anyway."

Merlin scowled up at the physician.

"If you aren't near Arthur, you have no chance of using your particular skill around him. The less you are with him, the better."

"I haven't used it in months, Gaius," Merlin grumbled.

"I know. You've done well."

Merlin bit his lip. Not that he hadn't been tempted, but nothing had been important enough to break his promise again.

Merlin stood up from Gaius' bed and limped towards the stairs to his room.

"I'll have dinner soon," Gaius informed him.

Merlin nodded and slowly ascended the steps. When he reached his bed, he collapsed into it with an angry breath. It wasn't fair. He should be going on the hunt. How was he supposed to fulfill some stupid destiny if he wasn't with Arthur? _Not that there is a destiny, anyway._

 _You must find a way to go._

Merlin half jumped out of his skin when the dragon's voice sounded in his mind. _How?_

 _Use what you know, Merlin._

 _I don't know anything to help with a sprained ankle._

 _Yes, you do. You are a warlock._

 _Magic?_

 _Yes._

 _I don't know any healing spells._

 _Then find one._

 _Where?...Dragon?...Where?_

Merlin rolled over in his bed. Stupid destiny, stupid dragon. Where in the world would he learn a spell to heal himself? He knew he wouldn't be able to do it without one. He'd never been able to heal just by willing it. He'd often wondered why he could do some things without hardly thinking about them, but other things he couldn't do at all. Like tipping the statue over. That had come easily.

Merlin suddenly sat up. The statue. That had been the night of the feast, and he had found the hidden book. Merlin turned his eyes to the stairs. He hadn't retrieved it again, but now that he'd learned to read some, he'd begun to suspect it was a book of spells. He hadn't said anything, but he had wondered why it was there and if Gaius knew of its existence.

Merlin put his hands to his mouth. Did he dare hope to find something inside it that would help him?


	7. Hunting Trip

Merlin hobbled down the steps from his bedroom to the main chamber. He listened intently, hearing Gaius' deep snores. He shuffled towards the shelf with the skull. When he reached it, he glanced back at the sleeping physician. Gaius' mouth hung open humorously and Merlin smiled. He turned back to the shelf, removing the skull and setting it silently on the ground.

Merlin pressed his hand to the wall. The magic current rippled down his arm. He pushed as he had before, using his magic as a sort of key. He felt the leather cover of the book and withdrew it slowly. He went to set the book on the floor, when Gaius mumbled and turned over in his bed. Merlin crouched down, staring through table legs at the rustling physician. The old man stilled. Merlin breathed again.

He picked up the skull and rose to replace it. Then he grabbed the book, hugging it to his chest as he crept back to the stairs and up to his room. He'd already lit several candles and perched on the edge of his bed, laying the book in his lap. He skimmed the first page. He was lucky Morgana had been insistent that knowledge of the development of language was foundational to writing. Merlin had thought her reasoning a bit nonsensical, but now he was grateful he could work out older language.

Most of the spells—he knew for certain now that's what they were—had been written in very old languages. He could only read about half of the ones he perused. He started to worry he'd need one he couldn't read, until he paused on a page with two drawings. The first was of a man with an arm hanging at an odd angle, a look of pain on his face. In the second, the man expressed relief and his arm was normal.

Merlin read the spell. It didn't really seem that difficult. He didn't know what he had expected, but the sentence was straightforward. He moved his lips silently, repeating the words several times before he tried them out. He set the book down on the bed and raised his right leg, holding his hand above his ankle. " _Ic hæle þina þrowunga_."

Merlin rolled his wrapped ankle and clenched his teeth. It still hurt. He stared at the book. He'd spoken it correctly. " _Ic hæle þina þrowunga_ ," he repeated. The pain remained. Merlin slumped in defeat. It didn't work.

 _Giving up, young warlock?_

Merlin startled. _Can't you warn me before you do that?_

 _I apologize._

 _How do you read my thoughts anyway?_

 _I do not hear them all. Only ones that produce strong feeling in you._

Merlin decided to test this. He took several deep breaths, calming himself and pushing away feeling. _Do you hear me?_

The dragon was silent.

"Did you hear that?" Merlin asked aloud.

 _If you mean what you just thought, no._

"Why do you hear when I speak aloud?"

 _I think the answer to that question is beyond your ability to comprehend at this time._

Merlin scowled at the cryptic response, assuming the dragon just didn't want to give away all its secrets. "Any advice?" he asked, letting the issue go for now.

 _You cannot just speak the words. You must control them. Bring them under the power of your magic._

Merlin blew out a breath. Control the words. It sounded like gobbledygook, but he held his hand out to his ankle again. He closed his eyes, drawing the magic through his body to his hand. He thought each word carefully before he spoke it. " _Ic...hæle...þina...þrowunga_." A warm shiver tingled his ankle, like his leg had fallen asleep. He pinned his lips together to keep from crying out at the sensation. It gradually faded.

Merlin gingerly stood, placing weight on his ankle. He took a step and laughed in delight. It worked! "Thank you!"

 _I am at your service, Merlin._

* * *

Merlin rose the next morning, limping down to breakfast. He had realized almost immediately after he'd healed himself that he'd have to pretend to be hurt for at least two more days. He didn't want to raise Gaius' suspicions that he'd dabbled in magic. As he chewed at his bread, he glanced at the secret hiding place. He'd returned the book, but he hadn't really wanted to. How much he could learn from it!

"How do you feel?" Gaius asked.

Merlin shrugged his shoulders, trying his best to look unhappy.

"I am sorry you can't go," Gaius said sympathetically. "I know you were looking forward to it."

Merlin understood Gaius was apologizing for being so adamant that his sprained ankle was actually a good thing.

"Perhaps it will make you glad to know Arthur has released you from work until you are healed."

Merlin bowed his head. Actually, his heart dropped at the news. He'd come to like working for Arthur. When he wasn't called, he found he missed him. "I'll be bored."

"Oh, not really." Gaius grinned at him. "I have a fresh batch of leeches and they need a clean tank."

Merlin groaned.

* * *

Gaius watched Merlin scrub the leech tank. He knew the boy hated the task, but admired how he tackled it regardless. He hadn't told Merlin he only set him the chore to keep him busy. There wasn't much else for him to do around here.

Gaius stared across at a shelf with a skull resting on it. He ran a hand over his eyes and sighed. There were days he longed for the time before the Great Purge, before Uther declared magic illegal and suppressed the gifts of those who used magic for good. He had renounced his magic study, too afraid and pragmatic to stand against the king.

Gaius' eyes wandered back to Merlin. He wondered how strong the boy's magic was. He'd pondered his assumption he was born with it. Very few were born with magic. He'd worked to convince himself someone had taught Merlin at an early age and the lessons had been so ingrained, they had become part of the boy. The alternative was too overwhelming to consider.

And yet... He wished he could teach the boy what he knew. He had long ago resigned himself to the wasting away of his own skill, his knowledge of old ways lost to the Purge and time. It was almost like fate had taunted him by bringing Merlin into his life. Merlin couldn't use magic, and Gaius could never let him know his guardian empathized far more than he knew.

* * *

The morning before the day of the hunt, Merlin walked normally to Gaius. "Gaius! I feel much better."

Gaius looked up from a book he was reading, staring at Merlin over his glasses. "In two days?"

"Maybe it wasn't as bad as you thought."

"Come here."

Merlin loped over to the old man, lifting his foot onto the bench he sat at. Gaius unwrapped his ankle and ran his fingers around it.

"Walk to the door and back."

Merlin obeyed, grinning widely as he returned.

"Indeed. It seems all is well."

"Then I can go?"

Gaius nodded. "You can go."

"I'll tell Arthur!" Merlin bolted to the door and out.

Gaius sighed. Now he'd spend his days worrying about the boy until the hunting party's return.

* * *

"Can you saddle both our horses?" Arthur asked as he walked Merlin to the stables.

"Yes, sire," Merlin replied.

Arthur nodded to him, and marched a different direction where several men had gathered to join the hunt. Some were knights, others nobles. He knew most of them, though there were always the few that weaseled their way into a royal's hunt for bragging rights. Those he simply had to put up with to please his father.

Arthur smiled when he sighted his closest friend in Camelot. "Lancelot!" he called out, clapping his friend on the back.

Lancelot turned, grinning. "Good day for a hunt."

Arthur glanced up at the sky. "I was afraid for rain, but we've been blessed."

"I have a new crossbow," Lancelot reported, handing it to Arthur.

Arthur ran his hand over it, then raised it, peering down its sleek wood. "Well crafted."

"I thought so."

"We'll give you a reason to praise its craftsman."

Lancelot laughed. "I'll tell her."

"A woman?" Arthur asked incredulously.

"Helmhart's wife."

"I thought _he_ dealt in weapons."

"He can hardly use his hands anymore. She fills most of his commissions, and she's skilled."

Arthur wondered at a woman so gifted in weaponry.

"Arthur, may I join you?"

Arthur turned around to behold a knight older than him by ten years. "Leon, you are welcome."

"Your father let me off for a few days."

"I'm glad you could come with us." Arthur had looked up to Leon ever since the man had been knighted when he was eleven. Leon had proved his courage and loyalty to the Pendragons for years, and his brave deeds were well known. He'd also taken it upon himself to train the young prince one on one, and Arthur owed much of his skill to the older man.

"She's looking at you again," Lancelot spoke quietly, pointing to the castle battlements.

Arthur followed his finger and sighted a girl of fourteen...no, fifteen now.

"Handsome, strapping, _available_ Prince Arthur," Lancelot teased.

"Shut up, Lancelot," Arthur growled.

"She's of marriageable age," Lancelot said, ignoring his friend. "And she's fairly pretty, I think."

Arthur shook his head. Guinevere had been pining over him for two years, and Lancelot took every opportunity to point it out. "Whether she's pretty or not, she's a servant."

"But if she weren't?" Leon inquired.

"She's not the girl I'm looking for."

" _You're_ looking for," Lancelot stated. "Thinking of defying father, are you?"

Arthur made to punch Lancelot in the arm, but the knight dodged.

"Sire?"

Merlin had appeared holding the reins to both their horses. "Ah. Merlin. Good." He walked over to the boy. He'd appeared at the perfect moment for Arthur to avoid Lancelot's playful jabs. He knew his father would suggest a bride when the time was right for an alliance. It was exactly what _should_ happen, and he'd be expected to agree. Still, he hoped to make the suggestion himself when he met a princess that stirred his heart as well as solidified an alliance.

"Merlin," Lancelot greeted. "Your first hunt."

Merlin nodded eagerly.

Arthur stared between his friend and his serving boy. "You know Merlin?"

Leon chuckled. "He polishes your armor once a week; more depending on how often you train."

"All the knights know Merlin," Lancelot said. He walked over to the boy and shared a wrist grip. "Are you going to do us proud today? First kill?"

Merlin looked eagerly to Arthur.

"No, he's not," Arthur commented unequivocally.

Merlin's face fell.

"Don't look like that," Arthur chastised. "We haven't practiced with any weapons. It'd be ludicrous to hand you one now."

Lancelot clasped Merlin's shoulder in a brotherly manner. "You will some day." Merlin smiled gratefully at the young knight.

Arthur marveled. Morgana had said half the castle knew and loved Merlin. He'd thought she was exaggerating, but it appeared not. How come he hadn't known all the knights had taken to the boy?

"Mount up!" Arthur called out. He swung up onto his horse and observed Merlin doing the same. He moved over to the boy. "Merlin."

"Yes, sire?"

"Hunting can be dangerous. I want you to stay at the back today where you're safe. Understand?"

"Yes, my lord." Arthur caught the hint of laughter in the address and frowned.

Merlin simply bowed his head to appear respectful. Arthur narrowed his eyes. He really shouldn't let the boy get away with such cheekiness, but for some reason he let it slide once again.

* * *

Merlin trotted along behind the hunting party, thrilled by the sights and sounds around him. The men chatted and laughed, discussing weapons, strategy, and their conquests of the fairer sex. Every so often, Arthur called a halt, jumped off his horse, and scoured the ground for tracks. It wasn't until the afternoon Arthur found a quarry worth hunting.

"Wild boar!" he called back.

The men rode forward, spears at the ready. Merlin hung back as he'd been instructed. He glanced every which way to make sure he was alone. He looked ahead and employed his magic. His sight zoomed through the woods, catching up to Arthur, as if he rode next to the prince's side. _That's where I'm supposed to be, right?_ Arthur may have forbidden him, but Merlin grinned that he had a way to stay near his prince regardless.

After a time, Arthur raised his hand. The men readied their spears. Arthur drew his arm back and flung his spear with all his might. A frantic squealing came from ahead. Arthur grinned, and then his face fell. An enormous boar had appeared, charging towards him. His horse backed up and shimmied frantically sideways. Arthur pitched over, tumbling to the forest floor. The others in the hunting party tossed their own spears. Every one missed.

Merlin's sight ceased as he dug his heels into his horse's sides and galloped towards his prince. He reigned in his horse several meters from Arthur, sliding to the ground. He barely kept his feet, but managed to balance. Arthur had recovered a spear that had fallen short of the prey, but Merlin knew it was too late to throw it. He jerked his head up and down, trying to find something, anything to help the prince. There! His eyes glowed gold.

A heavy branch from a tree snapped off, crashing onto the charging animal. It squealed louder and then grunted, struggling under the weight of the branch. Arthur backed away, a shocked expression on his face as he gazed upwards.

The boar suddenly stood up, shaking off the branch. Merlin feared it would go after Arthur again, but his heart froze when its eyes focused on him. It squealed again and charged.


	8. Truth and Consequences

"Merlin!" Arthur screamed at the top of his lungs.

Merlin hurriedly backed up, tripping over a root in the process, staring wide eyed at the boar bearing down on him. He curled up in terror, but heard someone else cry out in pain. He opened his eyes to see Lancelot standing in front of him, bleeding from a wound in his thigh. The knight aimed his crossbow and sent a bolt right between the boar's eyes. The boar went limp, immobile if not on the way to death.

Merlin could hardly breathe. Lancelot groaned and buckled to the ground.

"Lancelot!" Arthur now cried out, rushing to his friend. He wrenched Lancelot's hand from his thigh. "Federic!"

An older knight approached, unslinging a bag from around his shoulder. He knelt down next to Lancelot. He withdrew a cloth from his bag and tied it tightly around Lancelot's thigh. As he did so, Arthur glanced at Merlin. Merlin quailed at Arthur's wrathful gaze directed his way.

Arthur stood and grasped Merlin by his arm, pulling him off the ground. "I told you to stay back!"

"I...I..."

"You what? Thought you'd be part of the action? I should never have brought you along."

Merlin's heart sank and tears appeared in his eyes.

"Take your horse and get to the back like you were ordered."

Merlin bit his lip at Arthur's fiery eyes as he obeyed. He could feel the gazes of everyone else in the party on him as he passed them. He fumed inside. What was the point in having magic if he couldn't tell anyone what he'd just done with it?

* * *

Arthur stayed by Lancelot's side as his friend and knight was patched up. The wound wasn't as bad as it looked, Federic assured. Once he'd given Lancelot some medicine for the pain, Lancelot eased, his breathing normalizing.

Arthur called for setting up camp. They wouldn't be doing any more hunting today, and maybe none at all if Lancelot needed to return to Camelot the next day. Merlin silently went about retrieving Arthur's belongings and preparing them for an overnight stay. Arthur kept sending furious glances at the boy. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he obey such a simple command? He'd put himself in harm's way _and_ gotten Lancelot wounded!

The more Arthur stared at Merlin, the angrier he got. He forced himself to wait until after they'd eaten the evening meal to deal with the boy. He needed to see to his men before he handled Merlin.

Merlin remained sullen, even seeming angry. This galled Arthur. How could he be upset with Arthur for yelling at him? He had been the one to err. Arthur quickly ate, then stomped over to the boy, his anger no less richer as time had passed. Merlin looked up at him, his expression a mix of anger, sorrow, and fear. "You are to stay here," Arthur commanded harshly. "Do you think you can obey this time?"

Merlin swallowed and nodded.

"When I return, we will discuss your failure."

Merlin lowered his eyes.

Arthur turned on his heel, trudging into the woods. He didn't go too far from the camp when he found what he was looking for. He tore a sturdy stick from a tree and began to strip off its twigs and leaves.

"Arthur?"

Arthur looked up, then went back to work. "Leon."

"What are you doing?"

"Dealing with Merlin," Arthur growled.

"Don't do something you'll regret."

Arthur turned on the older man, swishing the stick through the air. "Merlin almost got himself killed! Almost got Lancelot killed!"

"He's such a gentle soul."

"Why does everyone say that?" Arthur demanded, remembering Morgana had said the same thing once. "If he is, he needs to toughen up. Pain is a good teacher." Arthur ripped more twigs off the stick.

"Those are your father's words, not yours."

Arthur looked up in shock. Leon had never been so bold. "The boy deserves it."

"Arthur, please." The new voice that spoke up belonged to Lancelot who hobbled towards his friend. "Don't hurt Merlin on account of me."

Arthur stared between the two knights. "What has gotten into you two? He's just a _boy_ and a _servant_."

Lancelot's face turned grim. "Haven't you seen the way he hangs on your words? He only wants to please you. One sour look from you or harsh word, and he'll carry it for weeks."

"Then maybe he'll think it over some and this," Arthur held up the stick, "will hasten the lesson."

Lancelot's voice rose in volume. "You don't have to hit someone to get them to listen." His eyes reflected the depth of his words, and Arthur suddenly realized how this must look to his friend.

"I'm not your father," Arthur spoke lowly. He'd forgotten at the worst time that Lancelot had suffered much at the hands of his own father. The man's injustice towards his family had often been swept under the rug to keep the embarrassment of a knight's dishonorable actions from staining Camelot's reputation. Still, Arthur had seen the bruises Lancelot's father wrought. His friend had finally been spared when his father had died in battle. "I'm not going to abuse the boy."

"You haven't seen him, Arthur," Leon interjected. "He sits in the armory polishing your armor and half the time he prattles on about you. You matter a great deal to him, and he looks up to you. If you hit him, especially after the thrashing he got from Baudemagus..." Leon let the import of his words hang in the air.

Arthur lowered the stick in his hand, his heart skipping a beat. He hadn't thought about that. Arthur had sensed that was the first time Merlin had ever been treated so. And here he was about to go and resurrect all the memories of it.

"I'm going to be fine, Arthur," Lancelot said. "I'm begging you not to do this to the boy."

Arthur stared at the two men's distressed expressions. He dropped the stick to the ground. "I won't."

* * *

Merlin waited, his heart atwitter with panic. Arthur had wandered off. Leon and Lancelot had followed him. He'd guessed they were planning his punishment. They thought he'd wounded a knight with his disobedience. What would they do to him? Merlin pressed his lips together. Whatever it was, he'd just have to take it. He felt hot tears and brushed them away. If only he could tell Arthur about his magic...

The knights returned, but not the prince. Lancelot limped over to him. Merlin bowed his head and his cheeks flushed. "Thank you for saving me," he murmured, knowing he wouldn't hear those same words from Arthur.

"Isn't that what gallant knights are supposed to do?" Lancelot spoke softly, but with humor. He lowered himself next to Merlin. "I've been hurt much worse." He gestured at his bandaged thigh. "This is nothing."

Merlin looked up. "I'm sorry."

Lancelot waved the apology away. "When you become a knight, you know it means putting yourself in danger."

Merlin's gaze wandered to the woods.

"Arthur always gets angry quickly, especially when he thinks he's right," Lancelot commented. "He needs time to calm down."

Merlin fiddled with the hem of his jacket. "He'll never trust me again."

"He gave me a another chance."

Merlin turned to him. "You?"

Lancelot smiled. "On my first mission as a knight, we were supposed to infiltrate a bandit stronghold. My assignment was to wait outside for a signal, a torch flare, from the roof of their hideout. I fell asleep. My mistake caused us to fail the mission."

Merlin blinked his eyes, shocked. He'd never thought Lancelot could fail so badly.

"Arthur was furious. But when we made it back to Camelot, he took the blame. He never told his father what I'd done. Of course, he made me train for hours the next week."

Merlin glanced at the woods again.

"He's a good man at heart," Lancelot said quietly.

Merlin thought so, too. He'd come to believe the man that had shown up to take the Druid camp wasn't the true Arthur. Somewhere inside was a man who would never have agreed to do such a thing in the first place.

Merlin shifted nervously when Arthur emerged from the forest. Lancelot stood, clapping Merlin on the shoulder. "Hang in there, Merlin. Whatever he says, he does like you."

Merlin watched Lancelot move away, then turned his attention to Arthur striding towards him. He picked up his neglected bowl of soup, stirring it with a spoon. As Arthur sat down across from him, he kept his gaze on the swirling liquid.

After a moment, Arthur spoke up. "I'm angry with you, Merlin, and disappointed."

Merlin kept his head bowed. The words stuck like a knife in his heart even though he knew he didn't deserve them.

"You never disobey a direct order. Ever."

 _Even when you might die if I don't?_ Merlin asked Arthur silently.

"I don't understand why you disobeyed me."

Merlin bit his lip and forced back tears.

"Why did you do it? You put yourself in danger."

"I just wanted to..."

"What? Try to kill the boar yourself?"

Merlin shook his head, but the answer was kind of "yes." "You were in trouble. I thought I could...help."

" _That's_ why you galloped up? To save me?"

Merlin nodded, still not meeting Arthur's eyes.

"Merlin. Look at me."

Merlin slowly raised his head. The eyes that met his had cooled.

"I don't need to be saved. I need _you_ to stay safe."

Merlin let out a breath. _But you don't understand. He told me to protect you. If only I could tell you._

"You are not to do this again. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Merlin said. He did, but he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

A moment of silence passed, then Arthur spoke lightly. "Besides, how will I ever keep my room clean if you're killed?"

A smile crept onto Merlin's lips. He shrugged.

"Just stop being an idiot." Arthur reached out to ruffle his hair, then stood and left to converse with the other men.

Merlin followed him with his eyes. The dragon had been right after all. Arthur needed him, even if he didn't realize it. _I guess I'll just have to be an idiot_ , Merlin ruminated. He had the uncomfortable feeling this wasn't the last time his destiny would run up against the desires of Arthur Pendragon.

* * *

Night fell. Arthur was one of the last to sleep. He'd seen that the camp was secure and various knights on watch. Bandits hadn't been as prevalent of late, but one could never be sure.

Arthur lay on his side, propped up on his elbow, his head in his hand. His eyes were drawn to the boy not far from him breathing heavily in sleep. He had told Merlin he wanted him to be safe, which was true. What he hadn't said was how much fear had gripped him when he saw the boar charging for the boy. In a flash, he'd pictured Merlin mauled and dead. If that had happened, he never would have been able to live with himself for bringing the serving boy along.

Arthur lay back, staring at twinkling stars peeking through the canopy of trees. What was it with Merlin? He'd seemed to earn the loyalty of every person in Camelot without even trying. Leon and Lancelot had always been honorable men, but neither of them had ever taken up for a servant so adamantly before. Merlin was _just_ a servant, but...not at the same time.

Arthur turned his head, looking to the sleeping boy again. He didn't know what it was about him, but he knew he couldn't let him come to harm.


	9. Destiny Diverted

"Sir Lancelot said he'll start teaching me to fight with a sword," Merlin announced.

"Oh, did he?" Arthur asked absentmindedly from his desk, brow knotted in concentration.

"He says even servants should be able to protect themselves."

"Um hm."

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"I just called you Arthur."

Arthur looked up. " _What_ , Merlin?" he asked with a sigh.

"Nothing, sire." Merlin grinned.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "I have a feeling you're mocking me again."

"I never mock you," Merlin swore.

"Don't pretend I haven't caught you." Arthur pointed at the table Merlin occupied. "Have you finished copying those letters yet?"

Merlin groaned. "I wish Morgana was better," he muttered.

"Merlin!" Arthur reprimanded. "Respecting your prince is paramount. It's a wonder you haven't been thrown out yet."

"I respect you."

"When in court. Outside it, you're a consummate rebel." Arthur waited until Merlin began writing again to smile at the boy. Personally, he found the boy's boldness refreshing. Most of the servants were so deferential and quiet. Merlin didn't possess much of a filter, and although it worried Arthur at times, he found it nice to be treated less as a prince and more like a person.

"The fact is," Arthur said, "I don't have time for you to copy silly stories. There's too much work to get done for that." He scowled at the report he'd been reading. He didn't add that Merlin had developed quite a fine script over the six months he'd been learning to write. It put Arthur's own handwriting to shame, so he took advantage of Merlin's skill, scribbling out quick letters and letting the boy's hand make them presentable.

"Is Morgana okay?" Merlin asked as he continued to write.

"Don't you go with Gaius to see her?"

"One time I did."

"She's tired," Arthur reported succinctly, though worry slipped into his tone. Morgana had taken to her bed a week ago with a headache and a fever. Gaius assured she would be all right, but Arthur knew that even simple illnesses could take abrupt turns for the worse.

"I've hardly seen Gwen."

Arthur tilted his head at Merlin.

"Sire."

"Sometimes I think I should just give up on you ever remembering to address me correctly," Arthur grumbled.

"Really?"

"No. You need to remember. What if you meet my father and forget?"

"I can't forget when I see the king. He looks so mad all the time."

"Merlin!"

"Sorry, sire."

Arthur shook his head, though admitted to himself that to a child his father probably did look angry all the time. Wouldn't it be nice to be an innocent child unaware of the pressures of governing a kingdom?

"When you're done," Arthur said, "report to Lancelot. He plans on starting your weapons training today."

Merlin chuckled.

Arthur looked up. "What is it?"

Merlin just shrugged.

* * *

Gaius perused another medical book, trying to puzzle out a sickness he'd been presented with in the town. He was distracted now and then with thoughts of the king's ward. He'd used every remedy at his disposal, but he suspected her illness went deeper, too deep to mention to the king its cause. If so, there was little he could do. He didn't dare tell Morgana the root of her sufferings for fear she'd lose her very life.

Gaius was drawn out of his worries when a light knock sounded on his door. "Come in," he called out, peering over his reading glasses.

The door opened and a woman entered, early middle age, brown hair, troubled eyes. Poor by the state of her dress and head covering.

"Can I help you?" Gaius asked, standing.

"I'm looking for a boy."

"Merlin?" Gaius asked in surprise.

"Yes...Merlin." The woman's eyes had grown moist with tears.

"He's not here at the moment. Please, come sit." Gaius gestured to his table and removed his glasses as the woman joined him. He sank back into his seat. "How do you know Merlin?"

The woman wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "He's my son."

Gaius' eyes widened. The way Arthur had told the story, the boy sounded like an orphan. "Your son?"

The woman nodded.

"How did you find him?"

"He wrote me a letter a month ago." She smiled shortly.

"He's learned to write under tutelage of the king's ward and son."

"He...is under the care of Prince Arthur?"

Gaius nodded slowly. "Merlin didn't tell you that."

The woman shook her head.

Gaius ran a critical eye over the woman. Did she know her son had magic? "I'm Gaius. Merlin helps me as well, and I see to his needs. He stays there." Gaius pointed towards the bedchamber at the end of the room.

"Hunith," the woman shared her name. "Tell me...is Merlin safe here?"

Gaius met her eyes, reading in them more than she said. "Yes," Gaius assured. _Safe so far._ "Would you like something to eat?"

"No, thank you."

Gaius looked down at his book, his mind swirling with questions he wanted to ask. He spoke cautiously. "I don't know much about Merlin's history."

Hunith clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

"He looks a little like a man I once knew."

"Oh?" Hunith asked casually, though her eyes became wary.

"A good friend. His name was...Balinor."

Hunith's gaze transformed into a mask of calm. "I've never heard the name. Merlin's father left us long ago. I have not seen him since."

Gaius tapped a finger on his book. So...Merlin was Balinor's son after all. His heart lightened to hear his friend had found love, but the information also distressed him. Merlin's magic already put him in danger in Camelot. If Uther ever knew he was Balinor's son as well... _Merlin must never know._

"Perhaps, if you want to take a stroll with me in the garden..."

The door to Gaius' chambers burst open. "Gaius! Watch this!" Merlin leaped into the room, swinging a wooden practice sword back and forth. He froze and lowered it when he saw his mother sitting at the table.

"Mother," Merlin breathed out.

Hunith stood, rushing across the room to embrace her son. "Merlin!" Her tears escaped her control.

* * *

Merlin paced around his room, fingering various storage supplies. His mother had taken a seat on his bed. They'd retreated here to get some privacy.

"You can write," Hunith said, her eyes on her son.

Merlin nodded. "Morgana says it's good."

"I had Huet read your letter to me." Merlin recognized the name of the most learned person in Ealdor, which wasn't saying much.

"How's Will?" Merlin asked, picking at a damaged crate's rotting wood.

"He misses you...I miss you."

Merlin bowed his head. "I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Merlin bit his lip. "You'd think I was crazy."

"Merlin. Come here."

Merlin moved over to the bed and Hunith drew him down onto it, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "You can always tell me anything."

"You believe me?" Merlin asked hopefully.

"I believe...you've had dreams."

Merlin lowered his gaze. "You _don't_ believe me."

"I don't understand why you left."

"Will told you?"

"Yes, but..."

"I found the Dragon Man."

Hunith pulled back, her gaze skeptical.

"It's true, mother. I have. It's Prince Arthur."

Hunith stared in disbelief. "Prince Arthur. Son of a man who would kill you." Her tone was bitter.

Merlin nodded.

Hunith held him tighter. "It's not. You only think so."

"I've seen him my whole life. I know it's him."

"Even so, this isn't the place for you."

Merlin stared up at her, realization dawning. "You're going to take me home?"

"It's where you belong."

"No. No! I won't go!" Merlin pushed away from her and stood, backing into a wall.

"Merlin!" his mother reprimanded in the tone she used when he had to do something he rather wouldn't. "I came to take you home. You will come."

"Arthur needs me!"

Hunith threw out a hand. "A prince needs you?"

"Yes!"

"No more arguing. Pack and we'll leave."

"I hear a voice!"

Hunith frowned. "A voice?"

"It wasn't just dreams. A voice talked to me. It told me to leave Ealdor."

Hunith's chin trembled. "Merlin..."

"All my life you've said magic made me special, but you stopped me from using it. If it's so special, why didn't you let me use it?"

Hunith twisted her hands. "You know they'd kill you."

"I know why I have it. I found the voice, too."

"Merlin..."

"I'll show you!" He grasped her hand, pulling her towards the door. When she resisted, he stopped and whirled around. "I won't go with you until you see him."

"Prince Arthur?"

"No. You'll see."

Hunith pulled her hand out of Merlin's grasp. Merlin glared at her. "I'll go with you. Just don't pull like a wild ox."

Merlin couldn't help but smile a little at the light teasing his mother had done all his life.

* * *

Merlin guided his mother to the dungeon. It was evening, and they met few people. None gave them much attention, used to Merlin helping Gaius' patients. Several greeted Merlin and Hunith noted with much enthusiasm. Her son had apparently made an impression. But then, he'd always had such joy for life. She'd wondered at times if that was partly due to his magic.

Magic. Hunith followed Merlin, her worry increased tenfold. How could he possibly have let himself come to Camelot? He _knew_ the danger, but he didn't seem to care. Dragon men and voices—part of her doubted his claims, but an even larger part feared them. They could very well be true.

Merlin paused on the stairs to the dungeon. He glanced down. A single guard was on duty. Merlin's eyes glowed gold for a moment as he sent a barrel pushed against a wall rolling. The guard stumbled after it.

"Merlin!" Hunith chastised in a whisper.

"Shhh." He gripped her hand and pulled her down the stairs, moving as fast as he could into the dungeon hallway. The lone prisoner in one of the cells was asleep. They reached another set of stairs that descended and finally a hallway hewn out of rock. Where was he taking her?

Merlin's hand lit up with light. Hunith firmed her jaw. She'd seen this before, but she'd always taken him to task when he did it. It seemed coming to Camelot had increased his magic use when above all things it should have stunted it.

Merlin held his hand aloft when they reached a cavern. Hunith gazed around in amazement. "I'm here!" Merlin shouted.

There was a loud flapping sound, and Hunith gasped and brought a hand to her mouth. A dragon soared lightly from above and landed on a rocky column. "Young warlock, I should have told you not to bring guests to see me." The dragon's disapproving gaze landed on Hunith.

"She's my mother," Merlin explained.

"Ah... So she is."

"She didn't believe I heard a voice."

"So you want me to be the proof? It's true. I have spoken to Merlin over long distances, all the way to Cenred's kingdom."

Hunith found her voice. "Leave him alone." She ignored Merlin's shocked gaze.

"But, the dragon told me why I have magic," Merlin protested. "I have to help Arthur."

"You don't have to help anyone," Hunith proclaimed sharply.

"Mother..."

"Young warlock, leave us. I wish to speak to your mother alone." The dragon turned its yellowed eyed gaze on him.

Merlin nodded and began to backtrack, but suddenly heard the dragon's voice in his head. _I will know if you stay to listen. Do not stay nearby. There are things I must say that are for your mother alone._

The dragon spewed forth a burst of fire, setting several rocks aglow to provide light. He blinked his eyes at Hunith. "You have not told him the truth."

Hunith met the dragon's accusing stare. "It would put him in danger."

"It is more than this, I perceive. You are angry at _me_."

Hunith clenched the fists at her sides. "You _are_ the last dragon. You destroyed him."

"Balinor made his own choice to walk by my side."

"You didn't tell him it was a trap."

"If I had told him, he would have prevented my capture, and this was necessary to achieve what he desired."

"What _Balinor_ desired?" Hunith scoffed.

"He did not hear me. His hand was not destined to bring peace to Camelot. It is Prince Arthur's, and Merlin will lead him to it."

"Merlin?"

"He will be the greatest sorcerer ever to walk the earth."

"No," Hunith muttered.

"Mothers fear too much for their offspring."

"I won't let you use him like you did his father!"

The dragon chuckled. "I am not the one who uses him. Destiny has called him and neither you nor I can prevent it."

"He's a boy. He isn't a tool in your games."

"I tire of this. I will not argue with you. Merlin has a purpose and that is Arthur Pendragon."

"A man who kills children?" Hunith exclaimed.

"A man who may change if destiny is allowed to flourish."

"Enough! Merlin will return to Ealdor. Do not talk to him again."

"If you are determined to ignore the truth, then I will be silent, but I warn you. Merlin and Arthur are two sides of a coin. Their destinies lie along the same path. If you take Merlin from here, they will be drawn together again, and I cannot guarantee the consequences will not be dire."

Hunith stared at the dragon for a moment longer, angry tears at the corners of her eyes. She turned, hurrying back down the rocky hall.

* * *

Arthur sighed as he lay back on his bed after a late night council with his father. He wanted nothing more than sleep. A small knock sounded at his door. He groaned as he sat up. "Come."

The door opened slowly and he was surprised to see Merlin step inside. "Merlin. Is it Morgana?"

"No, sire." The boy's head was bowed and Arthur started at a tear that rolled down the boy's cheek. Merlin wiped it away.

"What then?" he asked, worried.

"My mother is here."

"Your mother?" Arthur slid his legs over the side of his bed and stood.

Merlin nodded. "I wrote her a letter to tell her I was safe. I didn't think she'd come. She wants to take me home."

Arthur's heart dropped. "I...see."

"I don't want to go!" Merlin blurted out, looking up with frantic eyes. "I want to stay here."

Arthur didn't answer for a moment. He hated to admit it, but he had become fond of the boy's presence. It would be lonely without him. "She doesn't mistreat you?"

"No," Merlin said. "She loves me, but I still want to stay."

Arthur stared at the boy for a moment. He wanted to agree with Merlin, talk to his mother, but really, what did Merlin have in Camelot? A mock family. He and Morgana had taken the boy under their wings, but they weren't his parents. They couldn't offer the love his mother could. "I would give anything to see my mother," Arthur spoke softly.

Merlin twisted his lips. "But..."

"She's your mother, Merlin. You must go with her."

"Sire..."

"I don't need you. I can easily find another servant." Arthur tried to ignore the effect his words had on the boy, but his heart almost broke at the betrayal in his eyes. He knew he wouldn't really find another Merlin, but better the boy leave without any strings attached. "When do you depart?"

"Tomorrow morning," Merlin whispered.

Arthur held out his arm. Merlin echoed his gesture. Arthur gripped his wrist like a knight. "I thank you for your service."

* * *

The next morning, Merlin didn't have to wake when his mother called for him. He had been awake all night, only dosing with fretful dreams. He tried not to cry as he collected his bag, embraced Gaius, and left the castle.

"Merlin! Merlin!" Merlin looked behind at the main gate to see Gwen running up to them. The girl halted in front of him, breathing harshly. "I...wanted to...give you this." She held out a small metal plate attached to a round leather cord. She grasped his wrist and slid it on. Merlin stared down at it. It was a bracelet with a dragon embossed into the metal plate. "My father makes these some times...Remember me."

Merlin threw his arms around Gwen and the girl squeezed him tightly. When he pulled back, tears glistened in his eyes. "I'll never forget any of you. Ever." Gwen wiped at her own eyes as Merlin followed his mother through the gate, waving one last time before he stepped into the lane that would carry him away from Camelot.

Merlin didn't see the prince that sighed heavily in regret as he turned from a window overlooking the courtyard.


	10. Benevolent Deceit

Merlin wiped his brow, sighing. Winter had come to Ealdor. His mother had sent him outside to chop more wood for the fire. He blew out a breath, watching it fog on the air. He rubbed his hands together vigorously.

"Just use magic."

Merlin turned. "Don't say that," he reprimanded a boy about his age sporting dirty blond hair.

"I didn't say it loudly." Will sauntered up to his friend, an axe over his shoulder.

"You need wood, too?"

Will nodded.

Merlin eyed the pile he'd chopped. If only he _could_ use magic...

"You don't like being here."

Merlin looked to his friend. "I _shouldn't_ be here."

"So leave again."

"Won't you miss me?" Merlin asked.

"Yeah, but you said that dragon told you to help Prince Arthur."

Merlin bowed his head. "Yeah."

"Then go."

"I can't! She'll just come back and get me again."

"Well, she can't drag you if you refuse to go."

"She's my mother."

"So?"

Merlin's fingers moved to his wrist, feeling the bracelet under his heavy jacket and shirt sleeve. It had been over a month since he'd left Camelot. He'd tried to make his mother happy, tried to like being back in Ealdor, but he missed the castle and the people in it, especially Arthur.

"Has he talked to you yet?"

Merlin shook his head. The dragon had been silent. He'd pleaded with him to say something, anything, tell him what to do, but he refused to answer.

"All I know, Merlin, is you look miserable. I don't want you to go, but I don't want you to look like this either."

Merlin fitted the axe to his belt and picked up the pile of wood as best he could, sending a sad smile to Will.

* * *

Hunith watched Merlin set more wood to the fire. She pulled at a thread, looking down. She was darning Merlin's socks—socks that were far too nice for Ealdor. They had been given to him in Camelot. Hunith set down the sock she was working on to look back at her son. The joyful child she had known had disappeared.

Merlin stood, then moved over to the table to begin snapping beans. He stared blankly at them. Hunith sighed. She hadn't meant to hurt him, but what else could she do? She couldn't let him be pulled into these grand ideas of helping the world. Ideas like those destroyed Balinor.

"It's cold," Hunith commented. "Do you want some warm milk?"

Merlin shook his head without looking at her.

"Saba came by today. She asked after you."

Merlin didn't answer at the mention of a girl who had been sweet on him before he left. Hunith turned back to the sock.

"I hate it here." His voice was barely a whisper.

"Merlin," Hunith said softly.

Merlin turned pained eyes on her. "I was careful. No one knew I had magic just like here. Except..."

Hunith tilted her head in concern. "Except..."

"Gaius knew," Merlin confessed, bowing his head.

"You told him?" Hunith accused, though she was thinking back, Gaius' assertion that Merlin was safe taking on new meaning.

Merlin's gaze jerked back over to her. "He's just like you! Watching me and warning me not to use it! I wasn't in danger."

"You shouldn't have told him," Hunith admonished.

"Gaius wouldn't tell anyone. He was kind to me. He took care of me. Like you." He stood, stomping towards the backdoor. "I love you, but I don't want to be here." He escaped outside.

Hunith dropped the sock and covered watering eyes with her hands. He didn't understand. All she was trying to do was keep him from harm.

* * *

Gaius strode cautiously to the dungeon stairwell. He descended slowly, his mind full of troubled thoughts. Merlin had been gone for little over a month. Ever since, Arthur had not been himself. He was too quiet, surly to servants, and aggressive in training his knights. Gaius had even overheard Lancelot expressing concern, but Arthur snapped at his close friend and ordered him not to discuss the matter.

As Gaius had observed the prince, he'd come to a worrisome conclusion. He couldn't share his suspicions with anyone, except a being who had lived through the ages. Only he could confirm what Gaius suspected.

Gaius waved to the guards on duty when he reached the bottom of the stairs. A couple prisoners were being held, and Gaius had seen to injuries they'd sustained in their capture. His presence was expected. He passed the cells, however, and made his way to another set of stairs and a stone hallway. He hadn't come this way in many years.

When he reached the cavern, he beheld the reason for his visit—a dragon sleeping on a rocky pillar. He gathered his courage and cleared his throat.

The dragon stirred. It rolled its eyes to Gaius, then widened them, and raised its head. "The physician! This is unexpected."

"Kilgharrah," Gaius greeted.

The dragon blinked its lids. "No one has called me that in some time."

"I'm sorry you've been alone."

"Hm...So sorry you've come to visit me many times."

Gaius pressed his lips together. "I apologize."

"There is no need. I put myself in this position. Now, why have you come?"

Gaius squared his shoulders. "To inquire into your wisdom."

"Yes?"

"There is a boy. He was here for a time. His name is Merlin."

"I have heard of him."

Gaius lifted his right eyebrow, but decided not to inquire how the dragon had heard of anything beyond the cavern. "He has magic."

"I know this."

Gaius took a deep breath. "He is Balinor's son."

The dragon stared without answering, but didn't seen concerned.

"You knew Balinor had a son."

"I sensed him the moment he came into existence."

"Was he born with magic?"

"He was."

Gaius spoke hesitantly. "Does that mean Merlin...is the warlock of prophecy?"

"He is."

"He has left the castle."

"I am aware."

"I do not know the whole prophecy, only that it concerns a great warlock and the destiny of Arthur Pendragon."

"The prophecy affects all of Albion. Arthur is destined to unite Albion, but he will need Merlin by his side."

"Merlin is gone and I fear for Arthur."

"Fear was always your way, physician."

Gaius scowled, but didn't retort.

"Do not worry. Merlin cannot be kept from Arthur, nor Arthur from him. Destiny will draw them to one another until its purpose is completed. Wait. Merlin will return."

Gaius bowed his head, then turned to leave, but the dragon spoke once more.

"When he does, you must aid him. He must be allowed to embrace his destiny. Conquer your fear and the guilt of blood on your hands for his sake."

* * *

Arthur listened to the daily reports, slouched in his seat, little caring. It was a boring exercise most days. His father glanced at him disapprovingly. Arthur made an attempt to sit straighter and pull on a mask that feigned interest.

"This came from Cenred, sire," an adviser informed Uther as he unrolled a letter. "It is a call for aid."

Uther laughed. "Have Cenred's allies failed him?"

"He says there have been raids along the border of his kingdom where it meets our own."

Arthur perked up, pushing up in his seat.

"And what does that mean to us?" Uther asked.

"He assumes we might deal with them since the raiders are near to us."

Uther smirked. "He only asks so he draws our armies away from strategic positions."

"Where have the raids taken place?" Arthur asked, pointing at the map laid out on the table before him.

"Arthur..."' Uther said.

"I just want to understand the details," Arthur said.

The adviser drew his hand to a portion of the border. "Mainly here.

Arthur stared. Ealdor was so small, it didn't warrant a mark on the map, but he knew from his studies where it lay—directly in the way of the raids.

"There's nothing worth protecting there," Uther said. "If Cenred wishes to defend a useless piece of his lands, he will do it alone."

"Father, perhaps if we sent some small aid, Cenred might look with more favor on us," Arthur suggested.

Uther laughed again. "Cenred seeks nothing but his own interests. He doesn't want our favor, but our weakness, and this is an opportunity."

"Even so, the people of Essetir might turn their loyalties to us."

Uther jabbed a finger at the map. "Who lives there but poor farmers and ignorant simpletons? We don't need _their_ loyalty." Uther spoke to his adviser. "Reply to Cenred and tell him we are occupied elsewhere and can spare no men. What is the next report?"

Arthur sank back into his seat, his face grim, his ears hearing none of the following report.

* * *

"Can't you stop that incessant noise?" Arthur grumbled.

Lancelot peered at him from where he sat, leaning back, his feet propped up on Arthur's table.

"And get your boots off my table."

Lancelot didn't move, continuing to strum the lute in his hands. "You should take up an instrument. It might make you less contrary."

"I haven't the time for music."

"It's a sad man that doesn't have time for music."

"Lancelot..."

"I'm serious. Music soothes the soul. Just calm down and listen."

"I've been listening for the past half hour."

"No, you've been pacing and muttering for the past half hour."

Arthur sent daggers with his eyes to his friend, but walked over to his bed and lay back, trying to push all thoughts away. It worked for only a minute. He sat up. "It doesn't work. Stop playing before I have you exiled for being a nuisance."

"I'll stop when you tell me what's bothering you." Lancelot plucked at the lute's strings, his head bent as he concentrated on the tune.

Arthur sighed. "My father received a report about raiders along the border of Essetir. Cenred called for our aid."

"I bet your father loved that," Lancelot commented, his fingers deftly traipsing across the strings as he gave Arthur his attention.

"Indeed. He refused."

"And this is a problem?"

Arthur leaned over with his arms resting on his knees. "The villages under attack will be unprotected. Cenred won't expend his resources on them."

Lancelot cocked his head. "Where are these raids taking place again?"

"The western border we share with Essetir."

The music stopped as Lancelot sat up, laying his lute on the table. "You're worried about Merlin."

Arthur frowned. "What does he have to do with it?"

"Come on, Arthur. You've been acting like a man who lost his best friend ever since Merlin left."

Arthur glared at his friend. " _Merlin_ was a child and a servant, not a friend."

" _Merlin_ is still a child, no longer a servant, but that doesn't mean he can't be missed. Admit it. You miss the boy."

Arthur ground his jaw.

"It's alright if the mighty Prince Arthur cares for the life of a child. We all miss him. He had a refreshing innocence we don't see much around here."

Arthur stood, striding back and forth in agitation. Lancelot had always had a knack for striking to the heart of an issue.

"It's not surprising, you know."

"What?" Arthur snapped, rounding on Lancelot.

"You were given responsibility for him. Of course you care what happens to him."

Arthur threw out an arm. "What will they do? Poor villagers against ruthless raiders who feed themselves through the winter by stealing from others."

"I suppose some will die...but your father is unconcerned."

Arthur paced again, then spoke quietly. "Alright, yes, I'm thinking of Merlin. What makes his life any less worth saving?"

"Nothing."

Arthur looked in surprise to his friend.

"What is status, Arthur?" Lancelot asked in a contemplative tone. "A happenstance of birth. You and I have been filled with our importance, but I've known many nobles who didn't deserve their good fortune."

Arthur stared at him, knowing who he thought of.

"I don't think I ever told you I was glad when my father died."

"I knew."

"I can't think of one redeeming quality that made him worth a noble title. Merlin—he's only a poor child, but there's character and kindness in him that's worth fighting for."

Arthur collapsed into a chair across from Lancelot, elbows on the table, hands clasped against his lips. "I need to go to Ealdor."

"I'll go with you."

"But I have no idea what to tell my father."

"You don't defy him enough."

"Don't say it like that," Arthur mumbled, guilt in his tone.

"All I mean is moving Uther's mind isn't that hard."

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"You enlist the one person who can twist Uther around her little finger."

* * *

"I'm afraid Lady Aiora is ill. I'd like your permission to visit her."

Uther paused eating his meal to consider his ward. "But you're so recently healed of your own affliction."

"I feel much better," Morgana asserted. "And I am the more concerned in light of my own illness. I can only imagine her suffering."

"It wouldn't be easy to travel with winter upon us."

"There hasn't been much snow of late. I've inquired and the way is clear."

"I don't know, Morgana."

"Please. She took care of me after my father died, before I came here. She loved me like her own. If she were to pass on, and I did not see her once more..." Morgana dabbed at her eyes with a knuckle.

Uther reached out to pat Morgana's other hand laying on the table. "I understand. You must see her. But you cannot go alone."

"I can accompany her father."

Uther looked to his son. "I don't think that's a good idea, Arthur."

"There isn't much that needs my attention now. I could take Lancelot as well. We'd be back in a fortnight." _I can't believe I'm lying to him!_

Uther looked back to Morgana, her cheeks damp with tears.

"I would be glad of Arthur's company and protection," his ward smiled.

Uther sighed, picking up a chicken leg. "You may go. Be careful, Arthur."

Arthur's pounding heart began to steady. "Don't worry, father. The way is populated. We'll be safe."

* * *

Morgana was all smiles when they reached her chamber after the meal. "I told you. Easy."

Arthur shook his head at her. "You devil. I'm never going to trust you again. Have you ever done that to me?"

Morgana batted her eyelids innocently. "Never."

Arthur narrowed his own eyes.

"Maybe once or twice."

"I knew it."

"I don't do it often. Too much and people begin to suspect you." Morgana strode to her wardrobe. "I suppose I must pack, then."

"I'm sorry you'll have to stay hidden for a fortnight. I know a comfortable inn with a trustworthy keeper."

Morgana peered over her shoulder. "Oh, I'm not going to an inn."

Arthur creased his brow. "You _will_ go on to see Lady Aiora?"

"I'm going with you."

Arthur put his hands on his hips. "No. Morgana, no. This isn't a pleasure trip."

"I have every right to help Merlin that you do."

"We're going to a village that very well might be attacked!"

"And I can help you fight."

"You're not going with us."

" _Who_ bested you at sword fighting when we were children?"

Arthur felt his ears grow hot and scowled at her.

"Besides, what will you do if I follow you? Tell Uther?"

Arthur threw his hands up in the air. "Fine. Come. But if you die..."

"I'm not going to die, Arthur Pendragon. I'm as skilled and brave as you."

As Arthur confronted her stubborn gaze, he knew it was true.

* * *

The next morning found Arthur and Lancelot mounted for a supposed trip to visit a sick woman. Uther stood on the steps to see them off, charging Arthur with Morgana's protection, embracing Morgana for a final farewell. Arthur was surprised when Gwen appeared as well, already on horseback and dressed for travel. He moved his horse to Morgana's side.

"Why is she coming?" he whispered harshly.

"I wouldn't travel without my maidservant," Morgana whispered back. "And she'll keep our confidence. Merlin means a lot to her."

Arthur had been aware Merlin and the maid were friends, but he hadn't been concerned about Gwen's secrecy. "She's hardly more than a girl. What if she gets hurt?"

"She can look after herself. Her father's a blacksmith."

"I don't see what that has to do with it."

"I'm bringing her whether you like it or not." Morgana clicked to her horse and started off.

Arthur waited until Guinevere passed him, bowing her head to him shyly, and took up her place next to her mistress.

Lancelot drew up alongside his friend as they trotted behind the pair. "So the pretty maid comes along."

"Lancelot," Arthur said warningly.

Lancelot chuckled. "All I'm saying is this will give you a chance to get to know her."

"I don't want to know her," Arthur growled. His bright idea to travel to Ealdor was getting more and more out of hand by the minute.


	11. Welcome to Ealdor

"Race you!" Will shouted.

Merlin ran as fast as his legs could carry him, reaching the tree in record time. He swung up onto a lower branch, then scrambled up to their traditional spot several meters above. He looked down. Will was just behind him.

Will plopped down next to him, breathing hard. "You used magic."

Merlin laughed. "You always say that. I didn't."

Will wrapped his arms around himself and leaned against the trunk of the tree. "It's cold up here."

"Um hm," Merlin murmured, swinging his legs and looking out over Ealdor.

"Are you thinking about Camelot again?"

"I can't help it," Merlin muttered.

"Tell me about it again."

Merlin smiled. "It's large and full of people and there's always something to do. Especially because I had lots of chores. Way more than here."

"That doesn't sound like fun."

"I kind of liked it." Merlin glanced at his friend. "But you try to get out of any chore."

Will laughed. "What about Gwen?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. Will had asked about her more than once. "She's a pretty maid and my friend."

"Saba would be jealous."

Merlin felt heat rise in his cheeks. "I _don't_ like Saba. Not like that."

"I do."

Merlin's eyes widened. "You do?"

Will nodded with a grin. "You need to go back to Camelot," he teased.

Merlin grinned back. For a moment, they were silent, Merlin continuing to pump his legs underneath him, Will contemplating.

"Weren't you ever afraid?" Will asked, his voice suddenly quiet.

Merlin looked back at him. "Sometimes."

"The king could have killed you."

"Yeah."

"Do you think Arthur would kill you?"

Merlin twisted his hands in his lap. "I don't know."

"Stay here."

Merlin looked over at him.

"I know I told you to go back, but I've been thinking, I don't want you to die."

"I was careful. Like I am here."

Will blew into his hands for warmth. "What do you think of the rumors about raiders?"

Merlin shrugged.

"If they came here, would you use your magic to save us?"

"I guess only if someone wouldn't see it."

"But if someone was going to die, wouldn't you _have_ to use it?"

"If I used it and they saw me, _I'd_ die."

"It's stupid."

"What?"

"That you can't use it. You should be able to use it whenever you want."

Merlin stopped swinging his legs, staring back at Ealdor. "Yeah."

* * *

Arthur sighted the village just over a rise as the day began to wane. He understood now why Ealdor never made it onto any official map; by the number of homes, it couldn't boast more than a hundred inhabitants, if that.

"Ealdor?" Morgana inquired.

Arthur looked over at her. "Must be."

"It looks intact," Lancelot commented behind him.

Arthur nodded, though if the raiders had come, the people might have just given up any food they had without a fight. He glanced at the party. He was glad he'd insisted they change out of their royal clothing. He hadn't wanted anyone to guess who they really were. They rode along as simple nobles, nothing more.

"We should approach cautiously," Arthur warned. "I don't want to startle them." He assumed Ealdor didn't receive many visits from nobility. He clicked to his horse and descended towards the village.

* * *

Merlin dipped his hands into a bucket of icy water. He wished for a second he could warm it even slightly, but his mother was present, and he'd get an earful if she caught him using magic. He scrubbed at the dishes she'd assigned him to rinse. He'd done more chores since he'd returned than he ever did before, trying to keep his mind occupied.

He heard a sudden commotion outside and the sound of running feet. He dropped a dish back into the bucket and turned to his mother, who stood in alarm. _Raiders_ , Merlin thought, his heart pummeling his ribs.

"Stay here," his mother commanded. She crossed to the door, opening it. Merlin felt the blast of cold and heard a familiar voice.

"I'm looking for a boy. His name is Merlin."

Merlin's heart soared, and he rushed past his mother, pushing her aside. "Arthur!" He beheld the prince upon a horse and behind him three more faces smiling at him—Morgana, Gwen, and Lancelot. Arthur dismounted and Merlin threw his arms around the prince.

"Merlin," Arthur greeted, patting the boy's shoulder, and glancing around at the gathering crowd. He gently pried the boy away from him.

Merlin grinned from ear to ear. Morgana slid off her horse and hugged him, then Gwen embraced him for a long time, her eyes tearful. Lancelot shared a wrist grip.

"Perhaps you should come inside, my lord," his mother spoke evenly from the doorway of their home, staring at the confused faces of the villagers that had gathered near her door.

Merlin grasped the reins of Arthur's horse, leading it to a low fence that surrounded their garden. "You tie your horses here," he instructed. The others followed his lead, then entered his home, removing extra jackets and cloaks.

As they took seats at the table, Merlin stared at each in turn, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Why are you here?"

"Merlin," his mother chided. "Offer them something."

"Oh. Do you want food or drink?"

"That would be kind of you," Morgana said. "And we're here to see you." She smiled at him.

Merlin poured milk from a pitcher for each of them as his mother laid a simple loaf of bread on the table. "I'm afraid we have no leftover stew," Hunith said.

"This is fine, thank you," Morgana said.

"Actually," Lancelot clarified as he tore a piece of bread, "we came to make sure you and Ealdor are safe."

"Safe?" Merlin inquired. He slid onto the bench at the table next to Arthur, gazing up at the prince he'd thought he might never see again.

"We had a report of raiders in this area," Arthur said.

"And you came all this way?" Hunith inquired.

"To be honest," Arthur confessed uncomfortably, "Cenred asked for our aid. My father was unable to send men."

Hunith stared at him warily.

"I've been practicing riding," Merlin said, beaming at Arthur.

"Have you?" Arthur asked.

"I borrow our neighbor's horse. He doesn't have a saddle, but I think I'm still good at it."

Merlin sensed his mother's disapproving gaze. He hadn't told her about that, but he didn't care, because Arthur was here.

* * *

Hunith went about trying to make their one room home habitable for four unexpected guests. Morgana and Gwen offered to help. She'd tried to refuse, but they insisted and were helping her sweep and hang sheets as dividing walls. She hadn't had this many people in her home since Balinor had... Hunith swallowed hard. No. She had told herself those memories had no place anymore.

As she worked, she kept glancing at Merlin who hadn't left Arthur's side. He hadn't stopped talking either, peppering the prince with questions about Camelot and people he knew. Hunith noticed how Arthur indulgently put up with him, never rolling his eyes or telling him to be silent. In fact, the prince seemed entirely content.

Hunith stewed inside, the dragon's words haunting her: _Merlin and Arthur are two sides of a coin. Their destinies lie along the same path. If you take Merlin from here, they will be drawn together again, and I cannot guarantee the consequences will not be dire_.

 _He seems to care for Merlin now,_ Hunith thought, _but if he knew my boy had magic..._ She bit back a sudden sob. How could she host this man in her home? His father had destroyed her life. She wanted more than anything to throw him out, but that would raise suspicion.

"What else can I do for you?" Morgana asked.

Hunith looked up at her. "Um...I have extra blankets under the bed."

Morgana smiled at her and moved to the bed. Hunith watched her carefully. These young ones didn't act like Uther. There was kindness in them. Yet hadn't Uther lured the man she loved into a trap with supposed kindness? She looked back at Arthur and Merlin's grinning face as he launched into another story.

* * *

Arthur glanced around his surroundings as he changed behind one of the hanging sheets, readying himself for sleep. He hadn't thought much about where Merlin had come from. He could hardly wrap his mind around growing up in one room used for everything. And it was so dirty compared to Camelot, though he had observed Hunith cleaning as best she could.

Arthur stepped out into the main room, dark except for the flickering fire pit in the middle. Morgana and Lancelot had already wrapped themselves in blankets close to the fire. Merlin still sat up at the table with Gwen next to him.

"Merlin. You should go to bed," Hunith said, standing before him with her hands on her hips.

"A little longer. Please?"

Hunith sighed. She leaned down to kiss the top of Merlin's head. "Only a little." She moved towards her own bed, and Arthur caught the look she sent his way. She seemed suspicious and perhaps disapproving. Arthur had sensed her hesitancy from the moment they arrived. It must be as strange for her to host them as it was for him to be here. "Thank you for your hospitality," he ventured. She bowed her head briefly before continuing past him.

Arthur took his own place next to the fire, snuggling tightly into a blanket. He lay down, staring at the holes in the ceiling that were providing an escape for the smoke. The home reeked of smoke, so unlike the fireplaces in Camelot. Arthur's stomach clenched. Hunith had made them a simple porridge that hadn't gone nearly far enough. Had Merlin always lived this hungry?

"I keep it on all the time," Merlin was saying.

Arthur rolled over, turning his attention to the quiet conversation between Merlin and Gwen.

"I'm glad," Gwen replied.

Arthur peered underneath the table. Merlin was twirling a bracelet around his wrist.

"It reminds me of Camelot. I miss it. And you."

"I miss you, too."

"I want to go back, but..."

Gwen reached out and grasped Merlin's wrist. "She won't let you. I know. I'm sorry. But it's not really so bad here, is it?"

"Not really," Merlin mumbled. "How long will you stay?"

"I don't know," Gwen said. "Prince Arthur didn't tell us yet."

"I hope it's a long time."

"Maybe. We should go to sleep."

"Yeah."

Arthur turned back to the fire as Merlin and Gwen rose and rustled as they found their own sleeping pallets. Arthur heard a noise and found Merlin laid down on his stomach right next to him, staring into the fire. Merlin turned his head so his eyes met Arthur's.

"Thank you...sire," he whispered.

"For?" Arthur prompted.

"Coming here."

Arthur nodded. "Of course, Merlin."

Merlin looked back into the fire. "Is your room clean?"

Arthur guffawed. "Other servants try, but it's never as good as it could be."

Merlin grinned at him, crossed his arms one on top of the other, laid his head on them, and closed his eyes. Arthur caught the glint of Merlin's bracelet in the firelight. He strained his eyes to see what had been embossed on it. It was a dragon not unlike the one on his crest.

As Arthur closed his own eyes, an insistent thought passed through his mind: _Merlin belongs in Camelot._

* * *

"Very good, Merlin!" Arthur praised as Merlin galloped across a field back to him and Lancelot.

Morning had come early and Merlin had popped up from the floor eager to eat and show Arthur he could still ride as well as when he left. Lancelot had come along leaving Morgana and Gwen to aid his mother in any way they could.

"See? I told you. I haven't forgotten anything."

"I think you've improved," Lancelot said.

"Really?"

"He's right," Arthur said.

Merlin grinned. He sighted someone walking towards them. "Hey! Will!" He slid off the horse when Will reached them. "This is Will. My friend. This is Prince Arthur." Merlin pointed at Arthur and then indicated Lancelot. "And Sir Lancelot. He's a knight."

Will stared in awe at Arthur. "Nice to meet you."

"Sire," Merlin said.

"Huh?" Will asked.

"You're supposed to call a king 'sire.'"

"Oh. Sire."

Arthur and Lancelot shared a look, smiling. "It's good to meet you, Will," Arthur said.

"Can you teach Will to fight?" Merlin asked eagerly.

Lancelot smiled, leaning down to procure a stick from the ground. "I don't have a practice sword. Will this do?"

"Yeah!" Merlin approved enthusiastically as he and Will found their own weapons. They spent over an hour following Arthur's and Lancelot's instructions. Merlin kept glancing at Arthur who seemed entirely proud to see how well he kept up even though he'd only had one lesson before his mother showed up.

Merlin's stomach twisted. He bit his lip. Last night, as he'd laid by the fire, he'd gotten an idea. He had to talk to Arthur alone.

* * *

Hunith glanced at the woman sitting across from her and the girl to her side. Both had offered to help with her mending. They chatted easily back and forth, and Hunith found it surprising how Morgana treated Gwen like an equal. After a time, Gwen cleared her throat and spoke to Hunith.

"We miss Merlin at Camelot," she said tentatively.

"He talks about you," Hunith mentioned quietly. "You gave him his bracelet."

Gwen nodded. "I didn't want him to forget us."

"I don't think he could," Hunith spoke under her breath.

"Merlin is quite intelligent and good at study," Morgana said. "You must be proud."

"Yes," Hunith replied, but she hadn't been the one to inspire him. As Merlin told it, Morgana had insisted on his education.

Morgana laughed quietly. "Merlin was good for Arthur. I've never seen him so willing to help a servant before. Coming here was his idea."

"Did King Uther approve?"

Morgana looked down at the mending and sighed, her disapproval clear. "No." She looked back up with a grin. "We kind of sneaked away."

Hunith turned to her own mending, disturbed. Arthur had defied his father? All for a boy and a servant? How different from his father was he?

* * *

Arthur hadn't wanted to mention his growling stomach and was entirely glad when Merlin finally decided he was hungry.

"We should go home to eat."

"Can I eat with you?" Will asked.

"Will your mother let you?" Merlin asked.

"She won't care."

As they moved off, Arthur felt a touch on his arm and stopped. Merlin peered up at him with worried eyes. Lancelot had walked ahead with Will, who was asking him questions about being a knight. "I need to ask you something, sire."

"Yes?"

"I want to go back to Camelot."

"Merlin, this is your home," Arthur said. He thought it was the right thing to say even though it felt wrong.

"I know, but, I don't want to be here. Please, can you talk to my mother? Ask her if I can go back?"

"Merlin..."

"I know your mother died, and I'm very sorry about that, and I you wish you could see her again, and I have a mother, but I really want to go back."

Arthur tried to keep a straight face at the boy's words tumbling all over themselves in his earnestness. He grew serious as he tried to decide what to say. He hadn't come to take Merlin back, even though he wished he could. He wasn't the boy's parent, and he wasn't going to carry him off without his mother's consent.

"Merlin," Arthur repeated, "your mother cares for you. And she needs you."

"But she could come, too," Merlin argued. "Couldn't she?"

Arthur thought. That was certainly possible. Arguments began to surface in his mind, convincing reasons that Merlin should return.

"Just talk to her. Please...sire."

"I can't guarantee anything, but I'll talk to her."

* * *

Hunith served her guests, saying very little. She had unwillingly begun to like Morgana and Gwen. She could see how Merlin had so easily befriended Gwen—the girl was kind and sweet and unassuming. And Morgana was thoughtful and unoffended by work or the difference in status between them. Still, as Hunith set the bowl of stew in front of Prince Arthur, she couldn't forget he was the son of the man who had ruined their lives and at least submitted to his father's views on magic.

After the meal, Merlin and Will invited Gwen along to meet some other children in the village. Arthur talked to Lancelot for a moment in whispers, then the knight asked Lady Morgana to take a stroll with him. She questioned the wisdom of this considering the cold, but the knight was insistent and she went along.

Hunith sat silently in her chair by the fire, preparing a mash for the evening meal, keeping her eyes on her task. She could feel Arthur's presence as he sat down at the table. He cleared his throat. "I wanted to talk with you about Merlin."

Hunith forced herself to look up. "What about him, my lord?"

"I have a proposition for you."

"Oh?"

"When Merlin was in Camelot, he didn't just serve me. Morgana was teaching him to write, and I was helping him read."

"I am aware of this, sire. Thank you for your kindness."

"Yes, of course... Lancelot was also teaching Merlin how to use a sword. I think there is much that we can offer Merlin. He was a servant, but he could be more if he furthered his education."

Hunith's head began to ache.

"If you would allow him to come back with me, I will provide for him and his continuing education."

Hunith pressed her lips together.

"I also thought perhaps you might consent to come with him. I could provide you with a home in the city, and Merlin could work for me and live with you. Gwen lives at home with her father."

Hunith stared for a moment into Arthur's eyes. He seemed hopeful. He had clearly taken a liking to her boy, but if Merlin went back, what might be the cost if that favor was ever challenged? _Would you stand by as my boy was executed for his magic? Would you dare to cross your father?_

Hunith swallowed a lump in her throat. "I think Merlin..." She was interrupted when the door to her home flung open.

Derric, the head elder of their village, spoke breathlessly. "Raiders have taken Yuldif. The survivors have come here."

Hunith jumped up, setting down her bowl, and running out the door. She heard Arthur's pounding footfalls coming behind her.


	12. Two Sides of a Coin

Arthur pressed a cloth to a wound on a man's shoulder. He guessed it came from an axe. The man's eyes were fluttering closed. He quickly spread a paste Hunith had had handed him on the wound, then tied it off. "Come," Arthur said. He supported the man with his hand behind his back and helped him lay down. The man fell asleep almost instantly.

Arthur wiped his hands as he scanned the group of refugees. There were only about two dozen of them. He sighted Morgana, Gwen, and Lancelot, also aiding as they could. Even Merlin and his friend Will helped. Rage rose in his heart. These people were barely surviving and someone had decided that made them easy pickings.

Arthur saw Hunith in intense conversation with Derric and one of the survivors. He marched towards them, standing just outside their circle to listen.

"We have very few weapons," Derric said, his forehead creased in worry.

"You should just give them what they want," the survivor insisted. "It's the only way to avoid what happened to us."

"We had a poor season," Hunith objected, her arms folded over her chest. "There's hardly enough to go around. And with your people..." Her voice faded, the point clear.

"We could forage," Derric said.

Hunith sighed. "There's not much in the forests, either."

"We can't fight them."

"You can," Arthur spoke up, moving into their circle.

Derric looked over at him nervously. "They say you're Prince Arthur from Camelot." He sent a furtive glance Hunith's way.

"I am. And you have the right to defend your home. No one should come and take what you've worked hard for."

Derric looked suddenly panicked. "We aren't soldiers, my lord. The raiders are forty strong or more."

"Then we plan and work hard."

"We, my lord?"

"I'm going to help you."

"Hunith?"

Hunith stared at Arthur. He felt she was weighing if she could trust him or not. Finally, she spoke. "I think we have little other choice."

* * *

"Lancelot, we can train these men to fight."

Lancelot looked skeptically at him. "We can give them perhaps a bit more skill, but these are farmers, Arthur."

"Farmers or no, this is their home and their food stores. They are willing to fight for them."

"And what about me?" Morgana asked. She had already pulled out her sword, wearing it at her side.

"I need your mind," Arthur said to her. "I want you to assess the village. Find its weak points and easy places of entry. We'll need to defend those."

"I can help, too."

Arthur looked to young Gwen, dressed similarly to Morgana, a sword dangling from her waist. "Aid Morgana."

"I can fight."

Arthur laughed. "Women don't fight."

Morgana coughed and scowled at him.

"Except Morgana."

"The women may want to defend their home," Gwen objected. "I would defend Camelot."

Arthur raised an eyebrow at her fervent declaration, surprised at the meek maid's sudden change of personality.

"She's right, Arthur," Morgana said.

"No, she isn't. The women and children will be safely protected away from any chance of battle."

"You can't stop them from fighting!" Gwen argued

Arthur glared at her.

"My lord," she amended quietly.

"We need all the help we can get, Arthur," Lancelot spoke quietly.

Arthur turned, sending a furious look at his friend. He looked back at Gwen. " _Aid Morgana_."

"My lord—"

"You heard me, Guinevere."

Gwen bowed her head.

* * *

Hunith observed as Arthur and his friends went about their preparations. She'd never expected the prince to care about such a small village. Uther hadn't deemed them worth a second thought, but Arthur...

Hunith mused as she moved back towards her home to prepare what meals she could for the men practicing to fight. Maybe she had misjudged Prince Arthur. Maybe. But even if she had, her boy's magic hung over her head. How many times had she wished he'd never been born with it! She'd told him he was special, but she had mourned so often that he was.

She had wondered over the years if Merlin's danger was her fault or Balinor's. More likely Balinor's. And then she would regret having fallen in love with the man. But memory would challenge her, thoughts of cherished times enveloped in a loving embrace.

Hunith opened the door to her home and stopped dead in her tracks when she beheld what awaited. Many of the women of the village had poured into her home. "You should be preparing food for your little ones."

"We want to fight," one of the women proclaimed.

Hunith stared at her. "That isn't your place."

"We have the right to support our men," another said.

"You have children," Hunith argued.

"Are you going to fight?" still another spoke up.

Hunith wrung her hands.

"We know you will," the first one said.

Hunith firmed her jaw. Of course she would fight, even though she knew little. She would do anything to protect Merlin. "You don't know anything about fighting."

"I'll teach you," a soft, yet determined voice proclaimed.

Hunith looked to her doorway at Morgana's petite young maid. "You?"

Gwen nodded succinctly. "My father's a blacksmith. I know a thing or two. Just don't tell Prince Arthur or Sir Lancelot."

Hunith smiled at the girl as she stepped inside the house and into the middle of the group of women.

* * *

"What do I get to do?" Merlin asked as Arthur returned from a training session with the men.

"You get to stay with the women and be safe."

"But..."

"No buts, Merlin. You're only a child."

"I'm not!"

"Yes, you are."

"I'm thirteen now." Merlin stretched himself to his height. He just about reached Arthur's shoulder.

"That doesn't matter."

"Lancelot's a good teacher."

"He is," Arthur agreed, "but you don't know nearly enough."

"I can help you!"

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, stopping with his hands thrown up in the air. "When will you get it through your thick head I don't need your help!"

 _You do_ , Merlin argued silently, recalling the boar he'd stopped from mauling the prince.

"You don't have any formidable skill in fighting. You will stay with the women and that is final."

Arthur huffed away. Merlin stared after him. Will had asked him if he'd use his magic if someone were going to die. _I would_ , he realized. If Arthur were in danger, he'd openly use his magic and hang the consequences.

* * *

Three days later, Hunith had to admit that Prince Arthur had done all he could to see that Ealdor was ready for any raids. He'd organized patrols, trained their men as best he could, and set a trap with Morgana's aid. They were as ready as they could be, but she worried even that wouldn't be enough.

She was just settling into bed when she caught the whispering voices of her son and Arthur. She leaned over to glance around one of the hanging sheets. Merlin sat cross-legged before the fire, listening to Arthur tell him some story from Camelot. Merlin stared up at him with bright eyes. _Two sides of a coin._

Hunith sighed. Her joyful child had returned the moment he'd embraced Prince Arthur. Watching them now, she recalled her own brothers. They'd acted not unlike Arthur and Merlin were now. Merlin had been a bit of a lonely child, even if he had Will. He'd had no father to look up to, no sibling to guide him. Arthur seemed to have filled in the gap.

Hunith lay back on her bed. _Two sides of a coin_. What did that mean? One older, one younger? One prince, one servant? One warrior, one sorcerer? Destiny, the dragon had told her. Merlin destined to be a great warlock whose purpose was synonymous with Arthur Pendragon.

What if it were true? What if Merlin's joy came from his destiny? If so, how could she deny his return to Camelot? Merlin had finally found his purpose, and her fear was taking it away from him. She heard Arthur chuckling and Merlin laughing. The sound brightened her troubled thoughts.

Perhaps she had been wrong about Arthur. Uther would never have seen to the defense of a humble village in another kingdom. Something was different about Arthur. _It's Merlin_ , her mind unwillingly told her. What had the dragon said? Arthur could change if his destiny flourished. And according to the dragon, Merlin was the key to that destiny.

Hunith drew in a long breath. Did she dare have the faith to send Merlin back to Camelot?

* * *

"They're coming! They're coming!" A farmer careened into Ealdor, screaming as loud as he could. The villagers went into action, Arthur's lessons ingrained in their habits. In the flurry of activity, Hunith saw that all the women were sequestered at the back of the village in the two largest homes they had. She hoped no one caught the furtive looks between them. They wouldn't be staying inside for long.

She looked back as she closed the door to see the men moving to their assigned places. Gwen slipped in right before she closed the door. Hunith sighted Merlin sitting next to Will against a wall, staring at her fearfully. She moved towards him, reaching down a hand to pull him up. She directed him to a quiet corner. "Merlin," she whispered intently. "I want you to listen to me." Merlin stared gravely at her. "No matter what happens, you stay here."

Merlin blinked, but his eyes so well known to her betrayed his thoughts.

She squeezed his arm. "You don't use it. Do you hear me?"

"I can help," Merlin whispered earnestly.

"No. You cannot. Do you understand? You will not leave."

"I can't let people die when I can save them. Why won't you ever let me be who I am?"

Hunith felt tears rising in her eyes. She pulled Merlin into an embrace resting her head on top of his. "I love you, my boy. Please obey me. This battle isn't yours to fight."

When she pulled back, she saw Merlin had tears in his own eyes.

* * *

Arthur peeked out from behind the stone wall of a home. He held his drawn sword in a hand. Galloping horses came into view, their riders rough and dressed in the hanging skins and motley armor of typical brigands. The first to reach the village jumped off his horse and flung open a door, entering a home. He re-emerged a moment later, confusion on his face. Others also went in and out of houses.

"What is wrong?" a deep voice cried out. Arthur assumed this large man to be the leader.

"They're all gone, Kanen," one of the raiders answered.

The leader, Kanen, glanced around, eyes narrowed. "They wouldn't abandon all they worked for."

"They heard of us and fled," another raider laughed.

"Easy spoils for once," a third commented. "Come on." Several of the raiders entered houses.

Kanen moved forward. Arthur looked at the main entrance to the village. He raised his hand to Morgana hidden in wait. A wall of barbed sticks sprang up, blocking off any escape. Several other walls would be going up all around the village.

"Kanen!" one of the raiders pointed at the entrance. The leader whirled on his horse. Arthur stepped into the lane.

"I'm giving you a chance to leave these villagers alone."

Kanen stared at him, then his face broke into a wicked grin. "Who do you think you are?"

"Someone you shouldn't cross."

Kanen twirled an axe in his hand. "Care to test that assumption?"

"If you force me." Arthur brandished his sword.

As Kanen moved towards him on horseback, Arthur cried out. "Now!"

Chaos erupted. Village men poured from behind houses, fighting with any and every sharp implement. Several of the raiders were so shocked they went down in seconds, but soon they were fighting back. Kanen's horse bucked and he hit the ground. He didn't stop for a moment, growling and rising, stalking towards Arthur.

* * *

The moment the shouts and clashes of battle hit their ears, the women of Ealdor unwrapped piles of blankets that had hidden farming tools meant for war. Merlin gaped as his mother took up a flail. Gwen reached the door, holding her own sword. Merlin stared wide-eyed at the girl who he knew as a shy maid, a furious look now on her face. "To me!" she cried, as she opened the door. The women poured out after her.

Hunith looked back at him when she reached the door. "Stay here." She looked at all the children. "All of you . Do not leave under any circumstances." The door closed behind her.

Merlin looked to Will at his side. His friend was as shocked as he. "That...was our mothers," he stammered.

Merlin felt betrayed. She told him to stay here, but went herself. He stood up, his expression growing fierce.

"Merlin?" Will asked.

"I'm going out."

"No!"

"Arthur may need me."

"He can fight just fine."

Merlin turned back and shouted. "It's what I have to do!" After all, if Gwen could fight, he certainly could. He rushed to the door and out.

* * *

Arthur had hoped Kanen would be an easy kill, but the raider was battle hardened. They circled and thrust and dodged, neither making any headway. Arthur heard Morgana's battle cry, and saw her swinging with her own sword not far away, a raider going down under her prowess. If he'd had the time, he would have stopped to applaud her skill.

He hadn't a moment to assess the battle, but he could see both raiders and villagers lying on the ground. His plan had been to hem them in and kill most by surprise. He wasn't sure how clever that had been. There was a sudden chorus of shouts, and Kanen backed up and turned his head, surprise in his eyes. Arthur glanced over as well. The village women had appeared out of nowhere, joining the fight, and at their front was a girl swinging her sword like mad and wounding one raider after another.

Arthur gaped. "Guinevere?"

He almost took a blow from Kanen's axe and turned back to the fight just in time.

* * *

Merlin slunk around the outside of the battle, skirting the woods, trying to get around to the entrance to the village. He knew Arthur would be at the front. He finally reached it and crouched down, staring into the chaos. He sent his sight out, passing Gwen screaming in rage, though he paused for a moment. His mother had reached the front as well, and he hardly recognized her, so pure was the anger in her expression. Where was Arthur? There! He was fighting a man one on one.

Merlin put a hand to his chest, feeling blood rushing through his veins and his magic stirring.

"What are you going to do?"

Merlin's sight snapped back as he looked to his side. "Will!"

"If you can go, I can, too."

"You shouldn't be here."

"Shut up. What do you want to do?"

"Hang on." Merlin turned back to the battle, sending his sight out again. Arthur screamed and he saw a mighty thrust of the sword. It pierced straight through the leader and out his back. Merlin pulled back his sight. "I guess...nothing yet." Arthur didn't need him after all.

"Mother!"

Merlin startled when Will pushed passed him into the battle. "Will!"

Will was running towards his mother who had fallen, a spear jutting out of her side. His own mother appeared, jumping in front of Will and his mother. A raider charged her. Merlin watched in horror as the raider swung his mace. His magic blasted forth without his hardly willing it.

* * *

Arthur was leaning over Kanen's corpse when he looked up in time to see Hunith standing her ground before a wounded woman and boy, a raider's mace about to turn her head to jelly. He could only see her from the back, and he stared in shock when a sudden whirlwind appeared in front of her, gusting with tremendous speed. It slammed into the raider attacking her and kept going, picking up several others in its wake.

A raider swiped at Arthur with his sword. Arthur answered in kind. A few more went down before he heard only groans and wails. Weapons had gone silent.

He staggered forward. There was a sorcerer in Ealdor? "Who did that?" he demanded when he reached Hunith who crouched down next to Will's mother. "Where is the sorcerer? Who have you been hiding?" Arthur felt foolish. Their plan had been at risk and he hadn't known it. Who knows what advantage a sorcerer could have taken of the situation?

Hunith stood slowly, turning squarely to Arthur. "It's me, my lord."


	13. The Moment of Truth

As Arthur approached his mother, demanding to know who had just used magic, Merlin saw his mother jerk her head up, looking every which way. She spotted him and their eyes met. She slowly stood, facing Arthur. "It's me, my lord." She knelt down in front of him. "Take _my_ life."

Merlin rushed from his hiding place, meaning to throw himself in front of her and Arthur's rising sword, but his arm was grabbed by Lancelot, who pulled him backwards.

Arthur held his sword aloft as Hunith's hesitancy and anger towards him made sudden sense.

"Arthur! Don't!" Morgana cried out, running to his side.

"Get back Morgana," he spoke through clenched teeth.

"If you kill her, I'll never forgive you."

"Get. Back."

"No."

Arthur ground his jaw. "She's a sorceress."

"She hasn't hurt us all this time," Morgana pleaded.

Arthur's sword trembled.

"Arthur! You can't!" Merlin shouted.

Arthur glanced to the side, wondering where Merlin had come from. The boy struggled against Lancelot's grasp.

"No! Mother! It's m..."

Hunith shouted to cover him. "I did it! I've studied magic! Merlin never knew. I hid it from him."

Arthur stared at her in disgust. "You did this to your own son." It's why she hadn't wanted Merlin in Camelot. She hadn't wanted him to learn the truth about wretched sorcery.

"I do love him," Hunith whispered. "I never meant any harm."

"Arthur! Arthur!" the pitiful voice crying out to him drew Arthur's attention again. Merlin pushed against Lancelot, tears streaming down his face.

Hunith stared into Arthur's eyes as they filled with sorrowful emotion. He blinked back tears and lowered the sword. "There's been enough death this day," he whispered. He glanced at the shocked and confused faces of the villagers. "They can deal with you." He stomped away.

Hunith slumped and Merlin ran to her, embracing her as Lancelot let him go. Hunith put her lips to his ear. "Tell no one. Do this for me."

* * *

Merlin sat to the side as Derric and the other elders argued about his mother. She'd been taken to their home to await judgment, and no one allowed near her. Morgana had approached the elders, arguing with them. "What has she ever done to you? Tell me!"

The elders mumbled and tried to argue.

"Nothing. She's been kind and good. How does this change anything?"

"But magic..."

"Can be used for good."

"We can't be sure..."

"Oh, can't you?"

Merlin glanced dully at the rest of the villagers tending to wounded and gathering bodies. From what he could tell, the raiders had been decimated. If Ealdor had lost anyone, it was few. Arthur had saved them...and condemned his mother. Will glanced up from beside his own mother who was being bandaged, sending a helpless gaze to his friend.

Merlin stood, moving away from the argument that would determine his mother's fate. He heard steps next to him. He glanced up to see Lancelot pacing beside him. "I'm sorry."

Merlin looked ahead. He'd wandered into the nearby woods, but stalled. Arthur stood not far in leaning against a tree. Merlin clenched his fists and marched up to him. "My mother is a good woman."

Arthur looked up, his blue eyes hard. "She's a sorceress."

"So?"

" _Did_ you know?"

"No. But I don't care."

Arthur worked his jaw. "Don't you know what magic does?"

Lancelot spoke up. "Arthur, this isn't the time."

"He has to know."

"Know what?" Merlin challenged.

"Magic almost destroyed Camelot," Arthur said, gesticulating with his right hand. "My father fought it so Camelot would survive. I've seen the evil in it. People attacked and killed and cursed. A sorceress killed my mother, and I barely survived!"

Merlin swallowed slowly and spoke lowly. "My mother wouldn't hurt you." _I wouldn't hurt you._

Arthur looked away. "I'm sorry, Merlin, that this happened. I wish things could be different."

"Me, too," Merlin mumbled. "Can I see her?"

Arthur looked to Lancelot, waving a hand at him. "Take him to her."

Merlin glanced back as he followed the knight. Arthur had leaned back against the tree, his head in his hand.

* * *

Merlin waited until Lancelot left and closed the door to rush to his mother and fling his arms around her. She returned the embrace. He slid down to the floor in front of her chair. "It's my fault. I'm sorry."

"No, Merlin," Hunith said quietly. "It's mine." She reached down to grab his hand and look him in the eye.

"It's not."

"Yes, it is. I always said your magic made you special, but never let you use it. You saved me and Will."

"But—"

"No." She smiled. "You're like your father. You see people in need and want to help."

Merlin took a shaky breath. "My...father?"

"He saw purpose in himself—the pursuit of peace in Camelot. I tried to stop him. It only led to pain."

"Who...who is he?" Merlin asked breathlessly.

"Who he _was_ doesn't matter."

"Please tell me."

"I can't. Some day you will understand."

 _Tell your mother this is what I warned her of._ Merlin started at the voice in his head.

"What is it?" Hunith asked.

"The dragon's voice."

"What did he say?"

"He warned you of this."

Hunith nodded slowly. The consequences had been dire—for her.

 _You must return to Camelot, Merlin._

 _Arthur tried to kill my mother!_

 _But Arthur did not kill your mother. You have begun to change him already._

 _But he hates magic!_

 _If you return, you pave the way for him to see magic's good._

 _I have to stay with her._

 _It is your choice, young warlock, but I will warn you as I did your mother. If you do not return, you risk the downfall of Arthur Pendragon. Danger lurks in Camelot, waiting to draw the prince to the dark. He may follow the path of Uther. If he does, destiny will draw you together once more, but this time it may be your death at his hands. You have the power to turn him from that path._

Merlin pressed his palms into his eyelids. Why him? First it was protect and guide Arthur, now it's keep him from a terrible destiny and save his own life?

"Merlin?" Hunith prompted gently.

"I have to go back," Merlin whispered. "I have to stop Arthur from a dark path."

"There was something in the prince's eyes," Hunith spoke in a hushed voice, staring into nothing, "when he chose not to kill me. Something...good." She peered down at Merlin. "I've watched you with him. He needs you, and you need him. I didn't want to believe you had a destiny, but if I hold you back any longer, I fear what might happen to make it come to pass."

"You'll...let me go back?"

Hunith blinked back tears, shaking, fighting her fear. "You need to be who you were born to be."

"Come with me," Merlin begged.

"Oh, my boy, I can't. Do you think now that Arthur believes I have magic he would let me come?" Hunith leaned down to pull him into her arms. "I should have listened to you."

Merlin bit back tears.

* * *

Merlin sat with his mother until a knock sounded on their door and Derric stepped inside. "Hunith."

She stood to meet the elder.

"I've talked to the other elders. You've done so much for us."

"But you want me to leave."

"No. We want you to stay."

Hunith collapsed back to her seat in shock and relief.

"But no more magic study."

"Never again," Hunith promised. "I only did what I thought might help the village."

"We thought that must be so." Derric nodded to her awkwardly. "You might find some of the villagers cold for a time."

"I suppose so."

Derric backtracked out the door. Hunith breathed out in relief and Merlin caught her hand, squeezing it. The door opened again, and Morgana and Gwen appeared.

"Thank heavens they saw sense!" Morgana exclaimed. She moved over to Hunith and clasped her other hand. "I'm so sorry for this."

"Don't be," Hunith said, impressed again at the kindness exuding from the king's ward.

Gwen had knelt next to Merlin. "Arthur says we need to pack and leave."

Merlin glanced at his mother.

The door to their home opened wider as Lancelot stepped through, followed by Arthur. The prince didn't look at Hunith as he moved to his belongings.

Hunith stood. "My lord?"

Arthur tilted his head to indicate he was listening, but didn't look at her.

"If your offer still stands, I would like you to take Merlin with you."

Arthur's jaw firmed. "He is welcome to come."

Merlin looked between the prince and his mother. Hunith nodded to him. He trod over to Arthur, reaching down to help pack the prince for travel.

Hunith moved to the door and out, hurrying to find Huet.

Merlin paused filling Arthur's bag. He looked up. "Sire?"

Arthur's troubled eyes met his.

"Can my mother come?"

Arthur crouched down to roll his pallet. "No."

Merlin stared at the prince's back for a moment, then looked at the door his mother had just exited. He let out a breath and resumed packing for Arthur. He had no choice, really. As much as he loved his mother, he believed the dragon, and he wouldn't let Arthur Pendragon fall into a dark destiny, not if he could prevent it.

* * *

Hunith held Merlin tightly as he stood beside Arthur's horse, ready to mount. "I have something." She handed him a folded parchment. "Give this to Gaius."

"Gaius?"

She nodded.

"Okay." Merlin bit his lip. "I'll miss you."

Hunith embraced him again. "Write to me."

"I promise."

"Merlin." Arthur's call drew Merlin away from his mother. The prince pulled him up behind him.

Hunith moved over to the head of the horse, looking up at Arthur. "My lord?"

"Yes?" Arthur answered, still avoiding her gaze.

"Please take care of him. He's just a boy. Try to understand him. Protect him."

Arthur finally looked at her, his eyes losing some of their coldness. "You have my word." He chirruped to his horse, and Hunith waved one last time to her boy.

* * *

Night found the group plus Merlin camped in the wilderness again as they traveled back to Camelot. Merlin sat silently in front of the fire he helped build. He tried to ignore the awkward glances everyone sent his way.

Lancelot broke the silence. "So, Guinevere, where did you learn to fight like that?"

Gwen looked bashful, shrinking into her winter cloak.

"Gwen has many talents," Morgana asserted, smiling. "What did you think, Arthur?"

Arthur, who had been contemplating Merlin, looked over at her. "She was impressive."

"Not too bad for a girl?"

"Where _did_ you learn to fight?" he asked, not acknowledging Morgana's smug expression.

Gwen shifted where she sat, avoiding Arthur's eyes on her. "My brother used to design swords for my father. He showed me how to use them."

"He did more than show," Lancelot commented. Arthur noted his friend's twinkling eyes as he looked on the slender maid.

"I guess I should apologize," Arthur said. All eyes turned on him with surprise. "I should have given you a chance."

"Thank you, my lord," the girl murmured.

"Well," Morgana said, standing, "how about a meal?"

Gwen stood, helping her serve bowls of stew. Her gaze lingered on Arthur a little longer than he thought appropriate, but he didn't say anything. He held his bowl, unable to eat. Merlin, he noted, wasn't eating either. Lancelot caught his eye and nodded his head to the boy.

Arthur stood, moving over to sit on the log Merlin occupied. Merlin scooted over when he approached, making room. Arthur set his bowl on the ground.

"Merlin," he spoke quietly, "I didn't hate your mother."

Merlin tightened his folded arms into his chest.

"She was kind and gracious...I..." Arthur swallowed his words. He wanted to help the hurting boy, but he couldn't avoid the truth.

"What?" Merlin whispered, his own voice breaking slightly.

"I don't understand what would make her study magic. It was an awful mistake."

"She wanted to do good."

"I...believe that. But magic..."

"You think it's evil."

Arthur hesitated, but then decided it best to be truthful. "I know it is."

"She saved Will."

Arthur didn't answer. He didn't know how to explain to a child the intricacies of magic, the truth that even those who thought they used it for good walked an evil path. His father had told him many stories of the time before the Purge, how magic had been allowed to run rampant "for good," but had ultimately led to death and destruction.

"I'm sorry magic killed _your_ mother," Merlin said, looking up.

Arthur stared into the boy's compassionate eyes. "It was long ago," he muttered.

"How old were you?"

"I had just been born."

"You never knew your mother?"

"No." Arthur picked up his bowl. "I went on, Merlin. I lived without her. You'll make it, too." He stood, ruffling the boy's hair as had become his habit when comforting him. "Come on. Eat up. You'll need your strength. My room is a mess, my armor is smudged, and I have a pile of letters to answer when we get back." His heart lightened as his attempt at humor brought forth a hint of the characteristic grin he'd missed.


	14. The Poisoned Chalice

Merlin's quill flowed over a parchment as he scripted another letter to his mother on the desk Gaius had gifted him upon his return. The physician had cleaned out the storage in his room, too, giving him more of a personal space to call home. Merlin took the changes to mean Gaius had been pleased to see him back; that and the physician had embraced him the moment he'd walked through the door.

Merlin paused, tapping the feather of his quill to his lips as he considered the wording of his next sentence and glancing at his mother's most recent letter laid open beside his elbow. Life for her had been a bit strained after the villagers assumed she dabbled in magic, but she'd been too valuable to be ignored for long. Most had warmed back up to her and forgiven her by now. For a time, his own return to Camelot had been fraught with doubt that he'd done the right thing leaving Ealdor. He and Arthur maintained an awkward interaction for a while, but their bond slowly mended. So much so Merlin had begun to consider when he would be able to tell Arthur the truth.

Merlin hated that he had to lie to Arthur every day. Well, not lie directly, just keep the most important part of himself hidden. Sometimes he imagined striding into Arthur's room and telling him who he really was. Then he'd remember Arthur believed magic was evil, and if magic was ingrained in him, it logically followed Arthur would think he was evil.

Merlin sighed, scribbling the last few words of the letter. He'd just have to wait until Arthur was ready. Merlin blew on the letter to dry it. He leaned back, stretching his hands above his head. He clung to hopes for the future. Some day when Arthur knew, everything in Camelot would be different. He just had to protect the prince until that day came.

* * *

"Merlin!"

"Yeah?"

"Your food is getting cold."

"I'm coming."

Gaius shook his head. The boy was forever lollygagging. He tucked into his own meal. Time ticked by and finally Merlin appeared, tromping down his steps and into the main room. He sat down at the table, eating with gusto. Gaius noticed the folded parchment he dropped on the table.

"Another letter for your mother?"

Merlin nodded. "All is well," he grinned.

"So far."

"I promise I've been good, Gaius."

Gaius raised his right eyebrow.

"I swear."

"Just keep it that way." Gaius thoughtfully chewed at an apple. Merlin had returned three months ago with a letter addressed to him. He'd explained his mother had sent it, writing with the help of someone learned in Ealdor. Merlin's return had been unsurprising since Kilgharrah assured him it would happen, but he hadn't expected a letter from Merlin's mother revealing she knew of Merlin's magic and charging him to watch over her son like a hawk. She hadn't mentioned his magic directly, but it had been easy for Gaius to read between the lines knowing what he did.

Gaius pondered Merlin as he ate. He swore the boy had grown inches since he'd been gone. He pursed his lips. Kilgharrah had told him to aid the boy, lead him to embrace his destiny. _But he's just a boy_ , Gaius argued internally. Why foist destiny onto his shoulders at such a young age? Gaius understood full well the dragon wanted him to confess his own skill to Merlin and then teach him magic's ways. He couldn't do that, not in this castle. If he was to protect Merlin, he couldn't enhance his skill. It would be possible suicide.

"Arthur sent those for you," Gaius commented, pointing at a set of clothing on a table. Merlin stood, picking up a long red tunic with the golden Pendragon crest on the chest. A silky grey shirt and formal trousers had been provided as well.

Merlin held the tunic up to his shoulders, looking down. "Why?"

"Apparently, he thinks you're ready to serve at a royal feast." King Bayard had arrived recently to renew his treaty with Camelot.

"Really?" Merlin asked excitedly.

"You'll be at Arthur's beck and call the whole time."

"That's okay," Merlin exuded, folding the tunic back up. "I get to be there!"

"He also sent a note. He expects you in Morgana's chamber this afternoon."

"I wonder why."

Gaius shrugged. "Now that you've eaten, hop to it. Those herbs won't crush themselves."

Merlin traipsed over to a table, picking up a mortar and pestle. Gaius smiled at the boy's eagerness. No, he couldn't teach Merlin magic. Merlin was content and happy here, and Gaius vowed not to do anything that might ruin it.

* * *

"Don't slouch," Arthur grumbled as Merlin approached the table in Morgana's room with a platter in his hands.

Merlin pulled himself up, taking a deep breath. He set the platter down, then made to move away.

"You'll need to stay and see if I want you to cut it."

Merlin frowned. "It's empty, sire."

Arthur sighed. "It won't be at the banquet."

"Well, then, what's on it?"

"It doesn't matter."

"How will I know what to cut if you don't tell me what's on it?"

Arthur rubbed at his temples. "Merlin, I'm not going to create imaginary food."

Morgana's lilting laughter filled the room. "Ignore him. He's just grumpy I made him do this."

"I should be training with the knights," Arthur complained.

"We shouldn't want Merlin to fail at his first banquet," Morgana said, reaching out to the platter. "It's a goose," she said, smiling at Merlin who grinned back. "And you don't need to cut it. Arthur is more than capable of handling a knife."

"I'll be there to help anyway," Gwen spoke, stepping up to Merlin.

Merlin looked over at the maid, finding himself very glad she'd be with him. Morgana had tried to explain everything, but there was so much to remember.

"Now," Morgana said, "after the roasts will come the pastries. You'll collect the platters and return with the next course." Merlin followed Gwen's lead, moving back to Arthur and Morgana, picking up the platter and setting it on the dresser on the other side of the room, then returning with another.

"There's a lot of back and forth," Merlin commented.

"I warned you," Arthur said. "You'll be bored. If you hadn't seemed so eager to come, I would have let you out of it."

"I don't think it's boring, sire," Gwen spoke up. When Arthur met her eyes, she looked away to Merlin. "Sometimes there's dancing and acrobats."

"Bayard has his own minstrel," Morgana said. "I think we shall be treated to some songs this time."

"I think I'll like it, my lady," Merlin anticipated.

"Songs, acrobats, manners—Are we done here?" Arthur asked.

Morgana rolled her eyes at Arthur, but nodded to Merlin. "You may go."

"Come on, Merlin," Arthur said, rising from the table. "Maybe we can salvage what's left of the training."

* * *

"Pick up your feet! Lightly now," Arthur called out, observing Merlin as he locked practice swords with Lancelot. The boy tried to follow the prince's instructions, moving more purposefully. "Good. Now look for an opening."

Merlin's brow tensed as he blocked and parried. Arthur knew Lancelot wasn't giving it his best shot—he'd been instructed not to. Arthur wanted to build Merlin's confidence. The boy had been excited to learn swordsmanship, but a bit timid when it came to offense. He spent too much time cowering behind his weapon, using it solely for defense.

"Look there! His right flank was exposed!"

Merlin swallowed hard, catching another blow coming towards his chest. His forehead glistened in the sun, slick with sweat. Arthur had insisted he practice for at least a half hour. They were nearing the end, and Merlin had yet to lay down a blow.

"Pretend it's a dance," Arthur advised. "Anticipate his every move."

"I don't know how to dance!" Merlin called out to the prince in consternation.

"I suppose another thing Morgana can't wait to hoodwink you into learning," Arthur murmured.

"I'd like to dance."

"Then dance with Lancelot! Pay attention. Don't just react to his movements; guess where he'll go next."

Merlin closed his eyes for a second too long.

"Merlin!"

Lancelot's sword swung to his middle. Arthur was sure the boy would take a hit, but his sword swung to his side, clacking against Lancelot's. Merlin sidestepped, parried, lilted forward, and thrust. Lancelot grinned. Merlin gasped. His sword pressed into Lancelot's chest.

"Well done," Lancelot commented. He held out his hand. Merlin dropped his sword and shared a grip with the knight. He turned to Arthur with a broad smile.

Arthur clapped several times. "You're improving."

Merlin wiped at his brow and pushed back damp bangs. "I can protect you now, sire," he said half in jest.

Arthur shook his head. "You're learning to protect yourself, not me."

"But don't the knights protect you?"

"You aren't a knight, Merlin."

"Not yet." He grinned.

"Look," Arthur said, putting his best "you better listen" face on. "No heroics. If we're ever attacked, you fight for your life and let me worry about mine."

"Of course, my lord."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the spark of rebellion in Merlin's tone. "Go," he commanded. "My formal attire must be seen to for tonight."

Merlin bowed to Arthur and ambled away from the training yard. Arthur caught the light skip in his step and rolled his eyes at the boy's exuberance.

Lancelot rubbed at his face with a cloth and moved over to Arthur, his eyes on the retreating back of the servant boy. "I didn't mean to give him an opening just then."

Arthur stared incredulously. "It was a fatal hit."

Lancelot nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "Do you ever wonder..." He paused for a moment too long.

"What?" Arthur prompted.

"There's something about him," Lancelot muttered. "Like he sometimes sees more than we do."

Arthur laughed. "Is this you trying to excuse your slip up?"

Lancelot shook his head. "Something changed right before he made that move. Something in his eyes."

Arthur looked over his shoulder to see Merlin passing through a gate into the citadel. He turned back to Lancelot. "All I know is _you_ need more practice if a child can deal a killing blow."

Lancelot dropped the wooden practice sword and retrieved a metal version. "Come, then, Prince Arthur Pendragon. I challenge you."

Arthur picked up his own sword. He struck out first like always. As he and Lancelot spun around the training yard, he thought how it _was_ awfully like a dance. They'd known each other so long, every move was anticipated several steps ahead. Even if one of them sought to exploit a weakness, they both knew what the weaknesses were and worked doubly hard not to give the other an advantage.

Arthur noted as he pressed Lancelot to the edge of the training yard that the other knights had taken notice, stopping their own practice to observe. Arthur didn't practice with Lancelot much these days. Usually they each fought the newer knights to build their skills. He grinned when he saw Lancelot teetering backwards and lifted his sword for the final blow. It didn't come. Lancelot regained his footing, grabbed Arthur by the right arm, and swung himself around with a smack to the back. Arthur went to his knees.

As Lancelot doubled over, breathing heavily, Arthur twisted around staring at him, talking between breaths. "You...never...do that...You always...drop and roll to stand."

Lancelot took a long breath. "I know. She told me."

"Who?"

"Gwen."

"Morgana's maid?"

Lancelot patted Arthur on the back. "I've been practicing with her."

Arthur stared, flabbergasted.

"You should, too. She's analyzed your weaknesses." Lancelot's eyes glittered mischievously.

"She's a serving girl!" Arthur exclaimed.

"She's way more than that," Lancelot said. "If you only had the brains to see it." He reached down to give Arthur a hand up.

* * *

"How do I look, Gaius?" Merlin asked, striking a pose in his formal serving attire.

"Ready. Come on. You don't want to be late." The physician opened the door and Merlin paced next to him as they made their way to the banqueting hall.

"Morgana says I get to eat what the nobles do," Merlin said, eyes lit up in anticipation.

"In the kitchen and only the scraps."

"I bet they're good anyway."

Gaius hid a smile. "You don't approve of my cooking?"

"It's okay. Better than nothing."

Gaius looked down his nose at Merlin who suddenly burst out laughing.

"I like it, Gaius."

Gaius clapped the boy on the shoulder. "Remember to behave. Don't tease the nobles."

Gaius dropped Merlin off at the kitchens with the rest of the serving staff accompanied by a last raised-eyebrow stern look, and made his way to his usual seat in the hall.

* * *

Merlin balanced a tray in his hands, hoping it didn't slip in his clammy grip. Gwen strode ahead of him to the head table where Arthur, King Uther, and Lady Morgana sat. Merlin tried to concentrate, but he was awed at the transformation of the hall—the elaborately embroidered banners flowing from the ceiling, the red clothing so many of the Pendragon court wore contrasting with King Bayard's court's blue, the minstrel strumming out a lively tune, the snippets of noble conversation. All of it was foreign and exotic, and Merlin felt the exhilaration in the air.

Gwen reached the table and set her platter down. Merlin followed suit, bowing as he'd been taught and meeting Arthur's gaze. He smiled and winked. Arthur screwed up his face, but Merlin whirled around to move back to the kitchens. He heard Morgana laugh behind him.

So the night wore on. Gwen telling him when to do what, going back and forth between the kitchen or side tables, retrieving this and that for the royals. Merlin finally got a break when there was a pause for a particularly long song from the minstrel. He was handed a bowl with several foods, most he'd never tried. He savored every bite, unsure what most of it was, but loving it anyway. He crept out of the kitchen when the staff wasn't looking, keeping out of sight, but finding a place to peek around a banner. He watched the minstrel pace in front of the tables, plucking at a cittern, and singing in the most beautiful voice he'd ever heard.

 _Merlin._

Merlin groaned. Not now. "What?" he whispered, unsure if the dragon could read his thoughts at the moment.

 _Listen._

"I am."

 _Listen with your magic. Do you sense it?_

Listen with magic? What did that even mean? He stilled, feeling magic stirring within him. He looked out at the hall. Arthur didn't seem to be in any danger, but his magic continued to heighten. Its electric tingle charged up his body and down his limbs. The hair on the back of his neck rose.

"What is it?"

 _A sorcerer is near._

"Here?"

The dragon didn't answer. Merlin slipped away from the banner, backtracking towards the kitchen and his magic spiked. He gasped. He'd never felt anything like this before. He kept moving, unsure what it might mean. He had almost reached the hall to the kitchen when he heard a low voice chanting. He peered around the corner. A man with a crown on his head bent over a low table containing a decanter of wine and three goblets. Merlin translated the words and his heart pounded in his ears. A stream of golden light seeped out of the man's fingers, misting into the decanter.

Merlin heard someone moving from the kitchen to the hall. The man dashed away. He suddenly felt a hand grasp his arm and spin him around. He looked up at the angry face of the steward. "Where have you been? You don't go wandering. You're supposed to take the pastries now."

"But—"

"No excuses." The steward shoved him towards the banquet hall. Merlin looked over his shoulder. The tray with the decanter had disappeared. He dashed towards the banquet hall, the chant ringing in his ears: _May this poison find the guilty and bring the agonizing torture of doom._

* * *

Arthur creased his brow when Merlin didn't appear alongside Gwen with a plate of pastries. Where had the boy got to? He did, however, catch Gwen's eye as she laid her own plate in front of Morgana. The girl ducked her head. He watched her move away. He'd found himself contemplating her most of the evening. Did this slip of a maid really have some kind of insight into his failings with the sword? He'd been impressed with her at Ealdor, but he hadn't thought she had intimate knowledge of _him_. He shifted in his seat. If she'd advised Lancelot on his weaknesses, that meant she'd watched him train enough to do so.

Arthur rubbed at his chin. She was just a girl! A girl shouldn't have such insight into fighting. It was unnatural and preposterous and...attractive. He sat up straighter in his chair. Did he just think that? What was wrong with him tonight? Too much wine? He glanced into his empty goblet, and looked back to the hall again. Where in the heavens was Merlin?

The servant assigned to his father approached, setting down a tray with a decanter and three precious chalices removed from the treasury for special occasions. Uther stood. "Friends!" he called out. The hall quieted. "For the past five years, we have shared in the joy that comes from the unity between our two lands. The treaty we renewed today will last for years to come." He paused to pour wine from the decanter into the three goblets, handing one to Arthur and one to Morgana, grasping the third himself and lifting it high. "We have ever sealed treaties in Camelot with an honored toast to our guests. King Bayard."

Bayard rose to his feet along with his court. Arthur stood as Camelot's court did the same. He lifted his chalice.

"To you and your court," Uther concluded. "We offer the hands of allies."

"Stop! Don't drink it!"

Arthur, who had been about to place the goblet to his lips, stalled and groaned at Merlin's voice crying out into the silence. He beheld his servant boy careening towards the head table. Merlin about fell into it, sliding to a stop, grasping its edge with his hands.

"Merlin," Arthur warned lowly.

"The wine!" Merlin jabbed his finger towards the decanter. "It's poisoned."

Arthur scrunched up his brow and glanced down at his goblet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Morgana immediately set her own down on the table.

"I thought you had the boy in hand," Uther growled under his breath.

"I do," Arthur insisted. He looked to Merlin. "Explain."

"I saw someone poison it."

"Who?" Uther exclaimed, his eyes fierce with anger.

Merlin turned. "Him! He did it!"

King Bayard slammed his own goblet down on a table at Merlin's accusing finger pointed his direction. "This is an outrage!"

"Bayard is our ally," Uther protested.

Arthur, seeing the situation growing quickly out of hand, moved around the table, grasped the back of Merlin's tunic,and stared warningly into his eyes. "You'd better be absolutely certain," he spoke under his breath.

"I swear I saw him do it," Merlin answered less quietly.

Bayard cried out. "I will not allow this insult to go unchallenged!"

Uther picked up his chalice, turning it in his hands, seemingly unsure what to think. He moved from around the table, eying Bayard. "Why would the boy lie?"

"I don't know!" Bayard shouted. "He's _your_ servant."

"Then you would drink this if I asked."

Bayard stepped from behind his own table, striding to Uther without hesitation. "Give it to me." He'd placed his fingers around the goblet when Uther pulled it away.

"There is no need for you to drink it," the king insisted, turning to face Merlin and repair the damage done. "I don't know why you have lied, but you will be punished severely."

Merlin held his ground. "I haven't lied, sire. It's true."

Uther snorted. He moved towards Merlin and pressed the goblet into his hands. "Then prove it, boy."

"Uther!" Gaius called out. "Let me test the wine."

"Father," Arthur echoed. "If it _is_ poisoned..."

Bayard thundered. "You dare assume I would do this?"

"Father."

Uther looked skeptically at Arthur. "He lied once, and he's lying again."

Arthur let go Merlin's tunic, stepping up to the king so only his father could hear him. "Merlin did not lie about Meleagant attacking him."

Uther's eyes narrowed. "This boy has bewitched you." He looked down at Merlin and gestured at the chalice. "Well, boy?"

Merlin shook where he stood, but brought the chalice to his lips.

"No! Merlin, don't," Arthur commanded.

Merlin halted, but his action had already confirmed Uther's belief. "So he _is_ willing to drink it." He looked to Arthur. "He lied. You should have schooled him better. A flogging will be his teacher." He looked to Bayard. "That will satisfy the grievous charge brought against our ally."

Bayard inclined his head, accepting the punishment as fair.

"You would flog a child?" Morgana spoke up, her face contorted in anger.

Uther turned on her, eyes blazing. "You speak out of turn. Keep silent."

Morgana stared at Uther like she'd never seen him before.

Uther turned back to Bayard. "We do not suffer the lies of fools and attacks on our allies." Uther looked with contempt on Merlin. "Take the boy to the dungeon," he ordered as he picked up Arthur's own goblet, handing it to him.

Uther's goblet clanged against the floor as Merlin dropped it, spilling the contents. He sprinted to Arthur, snatching his goblet out of his hands. He made to drink it, but Arthur snatched it back, downing it in one go.

"No!" Merlin cried. Soldiers had appeared, grasping his arms and dragging him backwards.

Uther smiled smugly when nothing happened. "See, Arthur?"

Arthur stared between his father's triumphant face and Merlin's horrified expression. He was as shocked as Morgana that his father would order a child flogged, but then again, hadn't he commanded Arthur to kill an entire camp of Druids, including children? He looked down at the goblet. He'd actually hoped the wine had been poisoned.

The guards had pulled the struggling Merlin to the door. Arthur steeled himself for an argument with his father, but as he turned he felt suddenly hot, burning flames bursting outward from his stomach to the rest of his body. He gasped, brought his hand to his neck, and fell backwards into darkness.


	15. Shades of the Past

The guards holding Merlin glanced at each other, uncertain now that Arthur's collapse seemed to have proved the boy right. Gaius had rushed to Arthur's still form. Uther stared in shock, as did Bayard to his right. Morgana passed Gwen, who'd covered her mouth with a hand and was on the verge of tears, as she dashed to Arthur's side. The room was silent, except for one voice crying out.

"Arthur!" Merlin screamed. The boy's world was collapsing. He'd had one purpose, one reason for living, and it was dying on the stone floor of the hall.

"Let him go." Lancelot had appeared next to Merlin. The guards dropped Merlin's arms. Lancelot gently gripped Merlin's shoulder as they stood watching several men draw Arthur up from the floor to hurry him to Gaius' chambers. Uther's eyes suddenly flamed.

"Arrest Bayard! And his whole court!"

The guards and knights in the room moved to follow his orders.

"This is a deceit, Uther!" Bayard shouted, but Uther had already fled to the door. Lancelot dragged Merlin to the door as well, meeting Uther before he could exit.

"My lord," he said. "The boy?"

Uther stopped and looked down at Merlin, his gaze unreadable. "He's free to go." The king left, running down the hall.

Merlin sagged against Lancelot. "Woah," the knight said, steadying his grip. He directed Merlin to a sideboard and helped him slide to the floor before he toppled over. He grabbed a decanter. "Here. Take it slow now." He tipped the wine to Merlin's lips, and the boy sipped a little.

"He's going to die," Merlin spoke, eyes staring blankly ahead.

"Gaius is a good physician," Lancelot encouraged, tilting the decanter again so Merlin could sip some more wine.

"It was magic."

"What?"

"Bayard did it with magic."

Lancelot put the decanter back on the sideboard. He pulled Merlin to a stand. "Are you steady?"

Merlin tried a couple steps and swayed only slightly.

Lancelot provided extra support under his elbow. "Come on. We have get to Gaius _now_."

* * *

A distressing scene met Lancelot and Merlin when they reached the physician's chambers. Arthur had been laid in one of the physician's cots. Uther had removed his crown and set it on one of Gaius' counters. He sat in a chair next to the cot, grasping one of Arthur's limp hands. Morgana knelt on the other side, her hand caressing Arthur's head. Gwen had followed her mistress and stood to the side, her cheeks damp.

"Gaius, please," Uther's broken voice choked out.

"A moment, sire."

Merlin glanced numbly between Uther and Gaius who was just pouring something from a bowl into a small vial. Lancelot directed him to the table he and Gaius usually ate at. Merlin sat, watching Gaius move back to Arthur and force a liquid down his throat. The physician then placed a hand to Arthur's neck.

"His pulse is weak, but he's alive."

"You have to save him," Uther mumbled. A tear dripped down his cheek. Merlin felt suddenly sorry for the king.

"I won't know exactly which poison it is until I examine the wine," Gaius explained, moving back over to his worktable. Merlin saw he had the decanter and had begun to work at figuring out the poison.

Lancelot stepped up to the worktable, speaking conspiratorially. "Gaius."

Gaius looked up. "Lancelot?"

"Merlin says it was magic that did this."

"Magic?" Uther's voice rose. "What magic?" He stood up, turning his bulk to face Merlin. "What magic, boy?"

Merlin stared up at the king, sudden anger rising in his chest. "You didn't believe me."

"What did you say?"

"Why didn't you listen to me?" Merlin's chest rose and fell rapidly.

"How dare you." Uther took but a few steps to Merlin, grasping him by the collar and hauling him to his feet.

"Sire!" Lancelot called out.

"Leave him alone." Morgana had moved to the boy's side.

"Uther!" Gaius called out. "The boy knows what happened."

Uther shoved Merlin back down on the bench. "Speak."

Morgana crouched down next to Merlin, a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Merlin, tell us what you saw."

Merlin looked into Morgana's eyes. "King Bayard did a spell over the decanter. Magic came out of his fingers and went into it."

Gaius' brow furrowed. "When did he do this?"

Merlin turned to the physician. "Right before it was served." He looked over at Arthur and the dam finally broke. Tears welled in his eyes and cascaded down his cheeks. Morgana sat down at the bench and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into her.

"King Bayard didn't leave the hall," Gaius muttered thoughtfully.

"So the boy _has_ lied!" Uther raged.

"No, sire." Gaius' voice came out hard. "Merlin has told the truth. It is what he _saw_."

"What do you mean?" Uther questioned angrily.

"Magic, sire. Merlin was meant to see Bayard."

"Then there is a sorcerer in our midst."

"Most likely."

Uther's brow creased in anger. "I will not rest until he is found. Gaius," the king's gaze turned to his son and then back to the physician, "save my only child." The king rushed out of the room.

Lancelot had moved over to the chair next to Arthur's cot and sat looking at him. "How bad is it, Gaius?"

Gaius had returned to his worktable, considering the wine. "He's at death's door," he murmured.

* * *

Time passed. Lancelot eventually left to inform the knights of Arthur's current state and aid in the search for the perpetrator. Uther hadn't returned. Morgana slept on another cot next to Arthur's. Gwen had tried to persuade her to return to her chamber earlier, but Morgana insisted on staying. Gwen had left to retrieve some of the ward's belongings for a possible extended stay.

Gaius peered across his worktable at Merlin. The boy hadn't left the table, but had fallen asleep, one arm on top of the other, his head resting upon them. Gaius slowly stood. He procured a blanket from a stack meant for patients. He moved over to Merlin and gently laid the blanket over him, tucking it around his shoulders and under his arms. The boy didn't stir. He'd sat up staring at Arthur all night and had only closed his eyes in exhaustion.

Gaius glanced wearily at Arthur, assessing his labored breathing. He moved to a shelf and removed a skull. He considered the faint outline on the wall. Dare he? He glanced at the occupants of the room, all unconscious in their own ways. He turned back, pressing his hand to the wall until it slipped through. He retrieved the grimoire and began to thumb through it.

The book was the last precious connection he had to magic. He'd given everything else up during the Purge, but this... Gaius paused to run a hand over a page. It had been written by magic wielders over the ages, the spells as unique as the scripts that composed it. He had been unable to hand it over and lose all the knowledge and history it contained. So he'd hidden it and hadn't touched it since. But now...

Gaius flipped pages more quickly. It had to be in here. Ah. He stopped at a page and the handwriting there caused his heart to twinge, for he had turned on the person who wrote it to save his own skin. He read over the spell. Perhaps he should have guessed then at her dark nature. She had said she created it for defensive purposes, to bring enemies to their knees, but not to kill them. Thus, the extended time for the poison to complete its work. Gaius closed the book and pushed it back into its magical hiding place.

Gaius removed his reading glasses, setting them on his worktable as he passed. He lowered himself achingly into the chair next to Arthur. He stared at the prince—pale, dry lipped, still. His lips pursed together grimly. "Arthur," he whispered. He laid a tender hand on the prince's forehead. Memories played through his mind, an energetic blond boy entering his chambers to eagerly converse, staring at his work in amazement. Arthur had done that usually when Uther was away, and he craved a willing ear. Those times had grown fewer the older he grew and eventually ceased, but the care between Gaius and the prince had never disappeared.

The door to the room opened. Gaius removed his hand and saw Gwen had returned. Dark circles under her eyes revealed her lack of sleep. She moved to Morgana, laying a bundle beside her cot and adjusting her blanket. She moved to Gaius' side. "How is he?"

Gaius reached up to take her hand. "He isn't doing well, Gwen."

Gwen's breath caught in her throat and more tears appeared.

"I want you to get some rest."

"No, Morgana might need me."

"Take Merlin's bed," Gaius said, looking back at the table. "He's not using it, and I daresay if I woke him, he would refuse to sleep in it."

"Gaius, we can't lose the prince."

Gaius stared up at her, reading far more in her loving gaze. He stood and grasped her shoulders. "Rest for me."  
Gwen let Gaius escort her to the bottom of the stairs to Merlin's room. She climbed them and shut the door. Gaius sighed. As he moved back to Arthur, the door opened again, this time admitting Uther. The king strode up to the cot, looking down, his face drawn and blinking back tears. "Gaius?"

"Sire." Gaius paused. How could he tell the king his son would die? "Have you found the sorceress?"

"Sorceress?"

Gaius nodded.

Uther's brow furrowed in confusion. "We have found no one, but the knights still search. Sorceress?"

"Sire, please sit."

* * *

Merlin stirred. His back ached and his arms felt stiff. He suppressed a groan. He heard voices and opened his eyes. Uther had returned and was standing by Arthur's cot with Gaius at his side. The physician told him to sit. Merlin readjusted silently, turning so he laid his head on one arm folded on the table.

"You can release Bayard," Gaius said.

"He might have hired the sorceress."

"I would be very surprised if he did," Gaius asserted.

"Gaius, tell me now what has happened to my son." Uther's voice was laced with fear.

"I recognize the spell and its effects. This is the work of only one woman."

"Who?"

Gaius hesitated another moment. "Nimueh."

Uther blanched. "Nimueh?"

"You may remember she created this spell before magic was outlawed. It was meant to encourage surrender. She planned to poison an army's water supply and not give them the antidote until they capitulated."

Uther stared at Gaius. "I remember."

"This is her work, sire. The poison takes effect over a week."

"Then give him the antidote!" Uther shouted.

Gaius laid a hand on Uther's shoulder. "She did not tell anyone the spell to remove the poison. If only she knew it, no one could stop its work without her."

Uther wiped a hand over his face. "Gaius." Tears began to fall.

"Without her, Arthur cannot be saved."

Merlin felt tears gather at the corner of his eyes and bile rise from his stomach to his throat. He swallowed and about choked. Arthur couldn't die. Arthur wasn't meant to die. _Dragon!_ _Dragon! Help me!_

 _Come to me_ , the deep voice replied.

Uther abruptly stood, pacing back and forth in agitation, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Then we must find her."

"She is in hiding. Even if she were not, she wouldn't show herself to you if she intended to kill you and Arthur and Morgana."

Uther stopped with his hands on his head. "I can't lose my son!"

"I'm sorry I cannot do more, sire."

Uther jerked his head to Merlin at the table. Merlin closed his eyes just in time. "This _boy_. This _servant_. He is to blame."

"Sire?" Gaius asked warily.

"Arthur's grown too fond of the boy."

"Uther!" Gaius reprimanded. Merlin wondered at the physician's tone. He had never talked to the king like this before. "Merlin tried to warn you, but you wouldn't hear him."

"What was I to think?" Uther protested. "The boy lied before. He's a troublemaker."

"Merlin is no trouble," Gaius argued staunchly. "He is good and honest. You _should_ have listened to him. And Arthur would not have drank the poison if you hadn't asked a child in his care to drink it first."

Merlin dared to crack an eye open. Uther had turned away from him again. His fists were clenched, his eyes blazing, and for a moment Merlin feared he might strike Gaius. But Gaius faced his king unafraid, and Uther's anger dissolved into guilt and sorrow. He fell back into the chair.

"Arthur, my son!" He began to weep.

* * *

"Dragon!" Merlin had slipped away from Gaius' chambers when Morgana awoke at Uther's cries and moved to his side, embracing him and weeping with him at the news Arthur could not be saved. He'd run all the way to the dungeon. Several guards had been on duty, but he distracted them with ease, passing cells filled with Bayard and his court.

"Dragon!" Merlin held his lighted hand aloft, staring into darkness. The dragon's chain had been pulled taut to the extent of its length. The dragon's wings sounded as the chain relaxed. "I am here, Merlin," the dragon said as it alighted on the pillar of rock to face the warlock.

"Arthur is dying!" Merlin yelled. "He's been poisoned. I tried to stop it, but..." His voice broke.

"But?"

"He drank it before I could."

"Ah," the dragon intoned thoughtfully. "If I may surmise, the magic we sensed was a sorcerer in the castle and he meant to poison Arthur, but you meant to drink it instead. An interesting choice."

"It was in wine. Uther wanted me to drink it to prove it was poisoned," Merlin clarified.

The dragon snorted. "That seems more plausible."

"But Arthur drank the wine."

The dragon's voice softened. "This is because Arthur cares about you. This is a good thing."

"Arthur dying is a good thing?" Merlin shouted angrily.

"No. It is good that he is willing to give of himself for someone he thinks as low and common as you."

"But if he dies, then I failed. I couldn't protect him." Merlin's eyes brimmed with tears again.

"Tell me of this poison."

"Gaius said a sorceress made it. Nimueh."

The dragon raised his neck in reaction. "Nimueh? This must be a dark poison indeed."

"It will kill Arthur in a week."

"There is no cure?"

"She knows an antidote, but..."

"She will not give it."

"No one even knows where she is."

"Of course not. She was Uther's first victim of the Purge."

"Victim?"

"He killed her entire family hoping she would appear for revenge."

Merlin's mouth gaped. "Her _entire_ family?"

The dragon bobbed its head. "This is nothing more than vengeance, and I dare say Uther deserves it."

"You _want_ Arthur to die?" Merlin cried out incredulously.

"No, young warlock, but I understand her pain. I am the last of my kin because of Uther's ruthlessness."

"Please tell me what to do."

"The answer is simple, but carrying it out will not be. Nimueh retreated to the Isle of the Blessed, the ancient home of the priestesses of the old religion. I used to visit her before I gave myself up to Uther. You must go there."

"Where is it?"

"Far from here. You will need a fast steed if you hope to return in time. Tell the physician to do all he can to slow the poison before your return. And do not go alone. The land you must travel is dangerous and full of those who would think nothing of killing a boy. You may have power, but you are as yet untrained."

Merlin turned to leave, but the dragon spoke on. "Do not tell Uther. If he were to approach Nimueh, he would be dead before he spoke. And if he sent his knights, they would die needlessly. This task must fall to you, Merlin, and only one other you trust with your life."

* * *

The door to Gaius' chambers slammed open when Merlin rushed inside, running to the steps to his room. He hardly had time to register the confused faces watching him sprint by. When he entered his room, he flicked his hand and a candle sprang to life on his desk. He stopped at the sight of Gwen in his bed. The girl roused at the light and opened her eyes. "Merlin?"

"Gwen." He moved to the bed, reaching under it for his pack. He began stuffing all manner of things into it.

"What are you doing?"

Merlin looked up at her. "I'm going to save Arthur."

"How?"

Merlin stared into her eyes. "I can't tell you."

"Merlin..."

He reached out and gripped her hand. "Trust me, Gwen. And don't tell anyone, please."

Gwen looked concerned for a moment, then her gaze resolved. "I do trust you."

"I'll tell you some time, I promise," Merlin vowed as he continued stuffing his pack.

He heard steps enter his room and glanced up to see Gaius. "Merlin?"

"I have to go somewhere," Merlin said, glancing back at Gwen. She took the hint.

"I'll go see to Morgana," she said softly, leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

"There's a dragon underneath the castle!" Merlin blurted out.

Gaius stared at him in shock. "How do you know that?"

Merlin returned the shocked gaze. "You know?"

"I was here when Uther captured Kilgharrah."

"His name is Kilgharrah?" Merlin asked, wondering why he'd never thought to ask if the dragon had a name.

"Yes. How do you know him?"

Merlin threw more things in his pack. "I've heard his voice. He talks to me. I've seen him."

Gaius narrowed his eyes. "Merlin, do you know about the prophecy?"

"You mean that I'm supposed to protect Arthur and guide him until he and I fulfill destiny?"

"I suppose you can state it like that."

"Then yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't _you_ tell me?"

"I saw no need, but you should have."

"You never want me to be who I am!" Merlin shouted, not in anger, but explanation. "Why would I tell you?"

Gaius closed his mouth.

"The dragon told me where to find Nimueh."

"How do you know about Nimueh?"

"I heard you," Merlin said quickly. He hefted his pack over his shoulder. "I'm going to find her."

"Merlin, you can't do this. If you know where she is, tell me, and I'll go."

"No! The dragon says you have to slow down the poison until I get back."

"Merlin..."

"I'll be safe. I'm not going alone."

Gaius blocked Merlin's way to the door.

"Gaius, I have to go."

Gaius pursed his lips, then pulled Merlin into his arms, holding him tightly. "I know you have to." He let him go, looking into his eyes. "Be careful."

Merlin nodded. "I will. Just keep Arthur alive!" Merlin bounded down the steps from his room. He stopped just a moment to walk over to the cot he'd been avoiding since he'd entered the room. He glanced down at the man who'd taken him under his wing and care. _I'll save you. I promise._

He bolted out the door.

* * *

"Lancelot!" Merlin shouted. "I need to find Lancelot!"

The knights in the armory, who had just been released from the search for a sorcerer, looked between themselves. Leon approached Merlin. "He's not here. I think he's gone to check on Arthur."

Merlin backtracked the way he had come and saw the knight still in his armor climbing some stairs. He climbed them and caught Lancelot's arm at the top landing. The knight turned in surprise. "Merlin?"

"I need your help."

"What do you need?"

"I need to save Arthur."

"Gaius will take care of him."

"He can't. A sorceress did this."

"How do you know?"

"Gaius told Uther. I know where she is. Only she can save Arthur."

"Then we'll tell the king and knights."

"No! We can't!"

"Merlin, you aren't making any sense."

"I have to be the one to save him. She might listen to me."

"You're...only a servant."

"I'm not. I mean, I am, but I'm more." Merlin gazed up into Lancelot's eyes. "I'm...I'm..."

"What?"

"Just don't kill me." Merlin's eyes grew heavy with tears.

Lancelot placed his hands on Merlin's shoulders. "What is the matter?"

Merlin's breath hitched. "I have..."

Lancelot stared strangely at him for a moment, then pulled him a little ways to an alcove. The knight gently pressed him against its back wall. "You don't have to fear me... You have magic, don't you?"


	16. The Test Begins

Merlin hadn't expected Lancelot's question. "I..." He'd meant to confess the truth, but even now that Lancelot had guessed, Merlin found years of habit difficult to break.

Lancelot let go of his shoulders. "Follow me." Merlin trailed behind the knight who backtracked down the stairs and strode towards an area of the citadel containing a number of small rooms reserved for knights on duty. He opened a door and waited until Merlin passed inside to shut it. "We can't very well talk about this in the hall. Sit down."

Merlin lowered himself onto Lancelot's bed. The knight leaned back against a wall across from him, arms folded over his chest. Merlin stared at him uncertainly.

"I've wondered ever since Ealdor," Lancelot began. "Arthur didn't see what I saw."

"What did you see?" Merlin asked nervously.

"You hiding. I was heading towards you to pull you away from the battle. Your gaze was so focused, and that whirlwind appeared." Lancelot brought a hand to his chin. "And then your mother claimed it was her. It was you, wasn't it?"

Merlin swallowed and bobbed his head slowly.

"Did your mother teach you?"

"She doesn't know any magic," Merlin spoke in a hushed voice.

"Who taught you?"

"No one."

Lancelot narrowed his eyes.

"I was born with it."

" _Born_ with it?"

Merlin nodded again.

Lancelot let out a breath, glancing around the small room. "What a place to come for a boy like you!" He fixed Merlin with a hard look. "Can you really save Arthur?"

"I have to try."

Lancelot considered him for a few moments. "Where is this sorceress?"

"The Isle of the Blessed."

Lancelot put his hands on his hips. "How do you even know this?"

Merlin bit his lip. "Eh..."

"You don't want to say."

"I don't know if I should," Merlin replied, conflicted. He wasn't sure how much information he should divulge. The dragon might be in danger if he revealed its role in events.

Lancelot tilted his head, seemingly sizing him up. He turned to the door and opened it. "We have no time to waste. Come on."

* * *

Gaius had done all he could for Arthur. Uther had refused to leave his son's side. The physician had slipped away, ostensibly to research the poison further in the library. Instead, he headed straight for the dragon's prison. He held his torch high as he entered the underground cavern.

"Kilgharrah!" Gaius shouted.

The dragon's voice came from above. "The physician returns," the dragon drawled in contempt. "Your ears are closed. It is useless to speak with you."

"You sent Merlin to his death!"

"If any is to blame, it is you!" The sound of beating wings descended, the dragon alighting on the pillar of rock, its yellow eyes afire.

"How could you send him to Nimueh?" Gaius argued. "He's not strong enough to face her."

"Is your faith in Merlin so small?" the dragon chastised.

"He's just a boy!"

"And he will remain so unless he is allowed to take his rightful place in the history of the world."

Gaius glowered at the dragon.

"If you had listened to me, Merlin would have faced Nimueh with at least some training. It was _you_ who chose not to teach him."

"And if he dies?"

The dragon blinked slowly. "Then Arthur will take another path, and I fear for the kingdom of Camelot."

Gaius lowered the torch.

"You have made a grave error, physician. Even so, I do not believe Merlin will be as easily defeated as you assume. He may appear to be a boy, but there is strength in him even he does not know exists. This will be the young warlock's first test."

"Nimueh will show no mercy." Gaius' voice came out soft and pained.

"Nimueh shows no mercy because mercy has been denied her. There is only one who may be able to persuade her and that is Merlin."

Gaius drew in a trembling breath.

"I see, physician, you care very much for the young warlock. Perhaps you see him as a way to rectify your own failures. How many did you watch perish and not lift a finger to protect them?"

"Merlin is pure of heart," Gaius muttered.

"As were many Uther killed."

"Yes," Gaius stated simply.

"Stop being afraid. Teach him. It is your role to guide the greatest warlock in the world. Respect your place in the future."

Gaius pursed his lips thoughtfully. He'd never placed himself in the prophecy he'd heard so much about before the Purge. He'd suppressed himself and his talents to survive. After all this time, could he open the door to magic once more?

* * *

Lancelot had grabbed his pack he always kept ready for travel just in case the knights were called out at a moment's notice. He'd stopped by the armory, telling Sir Leon he would be gone for a few days and procuring two swords. Merlin had stared flabbergasted when the knight leaned over to strap a thicker belt around his waist and slid a sword into a sheath attached to it. "You're good enough to wield one of these," the knight proclaimed. Merlin marveled at the sword bumping against his thigh as they made their way to the stables.

Merlin had anxiously saddled his horse. He'd never ridden without Arthur as company. He'd forced back tears as he spoke softly to the animal. Arthur had gifted him Lebryt a month ago. "Is he fast enough?" Merlin had asked the knight.

Lancelot let out a sad laugh. "You don't know."

"What?"

"Arthur spent weeks bargaining for your horse. He was sired from some of the most noble and well bred horses in the kingdom. He's even better than mine."

A knot formed in Merlin's throat and he had to cough to force it down. _I have to save him. I have to._ What would he do without Arthur? Nothing would matter anymore.

So it was they made their way to the gate and out into the wilderness at the breaking of dawn. Lancelot had brought along a map and turned to the southwest towards the Isle of the Blessed. For quite a long time, they rode in silence.

Now that he had time to think, Merlin couldn't quite believe how easily Lancelot had accepted his magic. He wasn't even sure how he knew he could trust the knight. But in all the times of training, he'd seen something that told him Lancelot was safe.

Around mid-day, Lancelot called out to him. "We should take a rest."

"Can't we keep going?" Merlin asked, afraid that any delay would result in Arthur's death.

"We'll need the rest to press on." The knight dismounted, tying his horse's reins to a nearby tree. Merlin followed suit. Lancelot handed him food rolled in a skin. As they ate, Merlin glanced apprehensively at the knight, especially because Lancelot kept intently gazing at him.

"Merlin?" Lancelot finally ventured.

Merlin fixed his eyes on him.

"When we were practicing swordplay yesterday, did you use magic?"

Merlin ducked his head guiltily. "Yes."

"I thought so." Lancelot shook his head. "How often do you use it?"

"I try not to."

"Good. You need to be careful."

Merlin worked up the bravery to ask his own question. "Why are you okay with my magic?"

Lancelot, who had been chewing at his meal, swallowed hard and looked away to the trees. "My father was a knight of Camelot. He was...a difficult man." The knight rubbed at his neck. "He believed in Uther Pendragon, especially his views of magic." He paused, looking back at Merlin. "When I was ten, a girl about your age was caught using magic. Uther ordered my father to kill her...and he did." Lancelot ran a hand over his face at the awful memory.

Fear rose in Merlin's heart. Most of the time he ignored who Uther was, but any time he heard stories of the king's vicious actions, he recognized how much danger Camelot really was to him. Every day he walked the same halls as a man who wouldn't hesitate to kill him if he knew the truth.

"What had she done?" Lancelot ruminated. "Nothing worth death. I can't hate those who have magic."

"Even though it almost destroyed Camelot?" Merlin asked quietly, Arthur's speech in Ealdor replaying in his mind.

"There were sorcerers who used magic for evil," Lancelot conceded. "But does that mean all of them used it for evil? I don't believe so." Lancelot smiled gently. "I don't think you could use it for evil even if you tried."

Merlin smiled back. Never. He would never use it for anything but good.

"Which makes me wonder, how do you intend to make this sorceress heal Arthur?"

Merlin's smile fell. He hadn't thought about that. He couldn't just walk up to her and threaten to kill her, could he? "I...don't know."

"Well," Lancelot said, standing. "You'd better come up with something. I'm good in a fight, but I won't be much use against a sorceress."

Merlin stared down at his unfinished meal. He'd lost his appetite.

"I...didn't mean that to sound like I don't trust you," Lancelot said.

Merlin looked up at the knight. "What if I can't save him? I've never challenged another sorcerer before."

"What else _can_ we do? Like you said, we have to try for Arthur's sake." Lancelot stared at him with determined eyes. "Whatever happens, I'll be at your side, Merlin. I promise." He glanced at the sun. "Now, we need to get moving. And stay close. From here on we enter territory bandits frequent."

* * *

Gaius found himself pacing far more than he was used to, but he couldn't sit still. He'd managed his typical rounds, but only just, because Uther insisted he spend most of his time tending Arthur. Unfortunately, there was little more Gaius could do. He'd concocted a few medicines that seemed to slow the poison a smidgen, but no more than that. All he could do now was watch helplessly as the prince slowly died and worry about Merlin.

Two days since the banquet had passed. Uther had been pressed into his responsibilities despite his son's state. As distressed as the kingdom's subjects were to hear the heir to the throne might die, they still had to live and work. They needed Uther, and the king was too tied to duty to ignore them, though every spare moment he spent in Gaius' chambers.

Gaius paused in his steps, glancing at the door to Merlin's room. How he missed the boy! And how he regretted he hadn't taught him what he needed to face a woman like Nimueh. Gaius rubbed at his forehead. Nimueh had always been clever, perhaps a bit too clever. She'd liked to experiment and frequently walked the line between the light and the dark where magic was concerned. He could have enlightened Merlin if he'd just been less cowardly.

"No...no...listen...they're coming..."

Gaius turned at the mumbling coming from across the room. Morgana still hadn't returned to her rooms. She was wriggling in the cot next to Arthur, her eyelids fluttering in dream. Gaius approached her, reaching down a hand to her shoulder.

"Morgana."

The ward twisted to her side, eyes tightly closed. "Merlin...Go...Run!" Her eyes flashed open and she gasped. Gaius tightened his hold on her shoulder.

"Morgana. You're alright."

She gulped several deep breaths, gazing around the chambers in fear. She made to sit up and Gaius aided her with a hand behind her back. "It was a nightmare." She brushed a hand across her temple. "Ever since that sickness...Gaius, I keep dreaming awful things."

"What did you dream?" Gaius asked, feigning simple curiosity.

Morgana blinked slowly. "I saw Merlin by a stream, and then there were these men..." She broke off. "But it's okay now. It was only a dream."

Gaius moved over to a shelf. "I can prescribe a sleeping draft that will remove the nightmares," he said reassuringly, though he knew even then he lied. If what he suspected were true, nothing he did would help.

"Thank you," Morgana muttered. "How is Arthur?"

Gaius turned, a bottle in his hand. "He worsens a little each day."

Morgana reached out to grip Arthur's hand. "He's so cold." Her eyes began to mist.

"I wish I could do more."

"I keep thinking...I should have been nicer to him."

Gaius had moved back to his worktable to pour liquid into a vial. "You've been a sister to him," Gaius asserted. "And a good one. You don't need to regret." Gaius stoppered the vial and moved back over to her. "Here. This will help when next you sleep."

Morgana nodded, accepting the medicine and laying it in her lap as she continued to look on Arthur.

Gaius walked back to his worktable, bracing himself against it. He hoped he was wrong about Morgana. If he wasn't, Merlin was in danger. _Please, Merlin,_ he begged silently, _be careful and return to us._

* * *

Lancelot had informed Merlin they would make it to the isle marked on the map by sundown. A shadow had grown in Merlin's mind. The closer they got to the Isle, the less sure he was of himself. What could he do against a fully realized sorceress? He knew so little. He hadn't been thinking! He should have taken the hidden book with him. He could have found a spell somewhere within to aid him.

Merlin was always acutely aware of the magic that flowed through his veins. He could direct it at times, focus it, manipulate objects, but to do anything big like the whirlwind in Ealdor? He hadn't even known he could do that! It just happened.

"How's your water?"

Merlin was pulled out of his reverie by Lancelot's question. "Uh..." He reached to his side to retrieve his water skin. "Almost empty."

"There's a stream near. Let's stop a moment."

Lancelot slid off his horse and handed Merlin his own water skin after he did the same. "You fill them. I need to check Pomers' hoof. He's been favoring a leg."

Merlin hiked to the stream a few meters away. He uncorked the water skins and dipped the first into the stream. The water skimming over his hand was cold and gooseflesh chilled up his arm. He capped the water skin, then set the other into the stream. He worried his lip. What would he say to Nimueh? What could he do to make her give him what he wanted?

Merlin was so lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear the footsteps behind him, didn't sense anything amiss until a hand clamped around his mouth and an arm around his waist. He was hauled backwards, kicking and struggling. He tumbled, tossed into a large boulder. His skull cracked against the stone and his vision blurred.

"Look what I caught," a rough voice laughed.

"Where was he?"

"Down there a ways. There's a knight with him."

"Ah. So he's a little squire, is he?"

Merlin shook his head and blinked his eyes. A hand was cupped under his chin.

"Well, little squire, if you keep quiet, your knight might live."

A couple roughly bearded faces come into focus. Merlin flailed, striking out with his hands. He was pinned against the boulder. One of the men yanked Merlin's sword from his belt, examining it in the air.

"Fine sword. Worth a bit of coin."

Merlin berated himself. He'd completely forgotten he even had a sword. Where was Lancelot? "Lance..." Merlin attempted to cry out. He broke off when an arm jabbed into his windpipe. He stared at the hairy arm, and his survival instinct kicked in. His eyes glowed. The man cried out, letting him go. Merlin slumped, hands to his neck, trying to pull in precious air.

The man cradled his freshly burned arm into his chest. "He has magic," the man growled. "Get the chains."

Merlin heard jingling coming towards him. He tried to concentrate, looking up. His eyes had just began to tinge with gold when his head snapped to the side. He pitched over, bringing a hand to his cheek. The other man stood over him, heavy iron chains wrapped around his fist.

"So you won't behave? Kill the knight."

"No," Merlin managed, gasping at a sharp pain along his bottom lip.

The man began to mutter words in the language of magic. Merlin's eyes widened to realize these men were sorcerers. His body went limp. The man crouched down beside him and ran a hand over his cheek. Merlin couldn't even flinch at the touch.

"You're a pretty one," the man murmured. "Haven't ever sold a magic one like you. Bet you'll fetch a handsome price." Merlin felt the man run his hand through his hair, then pull on it, wrenching his head back. "No more fighting me. Can't sell you till you heal, and I get awfully angry if I have to tend the merchandise too long."

The man picked him up by his waist and dragged him towards a horse. The second man returned. "I can't find the knight."

"He can't have gone far. Let's get out of here."

"You aren't going anywhere."

Merlin felt relieved to finally hear Lancelot's voice, but he could only see him out of his peripheral vision. He was let go, flopping over onto the ground.

"Get out of here," the man that had dropped him growled.

Merlin tried to fight the spell, desperate to warn Lancelot the men were sorcerers. He only managed a hoarse gurgle.

Lancelot brandished his sword. "Give him to me and you can go peacefully."

"I think we'll keep him."

Merlin watched horrified as Lancelot charged and was violently thrown back, crashing against a tree. The knight hit the ground, made to push himself up, then fell down still. One of the men laughed while the other gripped Merlin by the waist again and threw him over a horse.


	17. The Isle of the Blessed

Merlin was panicking. The men had begun to bind his hands and ankles. If they took him, Arthur was going to die. Arthur couldn't die. He wouldn't let that happen. Merlin's eyes darted back and forth. He spied his sword, discarded on the ground for the moment as the men trussed him up.

"Make sure the knight's dead," the man securing his wrists commanded.

Merlin could see Lancelot laying still out of the corner of his eye. The other man leaned down and pressed a hand to his neck. "He's alive."

"Snap his neck."

A surge of anger shot through Merlin. He felt his magic blossom. Without hardly thinking, his eyes flicked to his sword. It rose from the ground and zipped through the air, its aim sure, impaling the man standing before Lancelot.

"What the..."

The man tying his hands turned to look. It was too late. The sword had already dislodged and zoomed towards him. It met his stomach, its force so strong the blade exited through his back. The man turned, eyes locked on Merlin who watched as the light faded from them. The man slumped to the ground.

Merlin's stomach roiled. His mouth began to water, and his recent meals made a second appearance as he vomited violently.

* * *

Gwen perched on Morgana's cot, gazing down at Prince Arthur. Gaius had been called away, and she had insisted Morgana get some fresh air. She promised to look after Arthur until her return. Of course, there wasn't much to do but look on the prince who was paler by the day.

Gwen glanced at the door, then hesitantly reached out to touch Arthur's cheek. He felt so cold. She stood, retrieving another blanket and lay it over him, tucking it under his chin. She sat back down, resting her elbows on her knees and clasping her hands together against her lips.

She had such a silly girl's heart to care about the prince so deeply. Arthur would never care about a servant girl like her, but she'd still let love capture her. Five years ago, her father's skill in sword making had earned the court's favor. He'd taken advantage of its goodwill and petitioned for her to serve in the castle, a position of honor for commoners like them and a role that guaranteed she'd be well provided for. For a few months she'd served lesser ladies of the court, until Morgana took notice of her and appointed her her personal maid.

Gwen risked another touch, stroking Arthur's hair. Once she became Morgana's maid, she'd spent more time in the company of the prince. She'd often heard he was aloof and haughty. He certainly was proud and scrupulous in his station, but she sensed something deeper within. As much as he tried to act like Uther, he didn't quite compare.

And Merlin. That had surprised her. Arthur didn't drag poor waifs home to Camelot. He didn't spend his time and attention on them. But he had. And she'd begun to hope that if he could see one servant's worth, maybe he could see another's.

Gwen's breath caught in her throat; tears brimmed in her eyes. "Come back to us, Arthur. Please. Don't leave us."

The door creaked open, and Gwen jerked her hand away from the prince, wiping at her eyes. Gaius entered.

"Gwen."

"Gaius."

The physician held a passel of flowers and herbs in his hands. He paused by Arthur's sickbed, touching his neck briefly. His face grow even grimmer if that were possible, and he moved to his worktable. "I discovered another mixture I might try to bring some life back into him."

Gwen nodded. "Can I help?"

"The mortar and pestle," Gaius said, pointing to it.

Gwen rose, her eyes scanning Arthur's face. _Don't leave me. I love you._

* * *

Merlin wasn't sure how much time had passed. He had dosed on the docile horse and tried to avoid looking at the two bodies laying in pools of blood. His feet and hands had begun to tingle as the spell wore off. He heard a groan and his heart leaped to see Lancelot wake and stagger to his feet.

"L...L..." Merlin attempted to call out, but his throat was dry and parched.

Lancelot shook his head and turned. "Merlin." He picked his sword up from the ground, holding it aloft, but then sighted the dead men. He sheathed it, moving to Merlin, taking stock of the situation. He began to untie Merlin's wrists. He nodded his head to the bodies. "Did _you_ do that?"

Merlin nodded weakly.

Shock blanketed the knight's face. He moved to the other side of the horse, releasing Merlin's ankles. He walked back around, lifting him off the horse. Merlin's knees buckled. Lancelot caught him, gingerly lowering him to the ground and supporting him with a hand behind his back. He unhooked a water skin at his waist and put it to Merlin's lips. Merlin sucked in the precious liquid.

"I'm sorry," the knight apologized. "I shouldn't have let you go to the stream alone."

"It's...okay," Merlin croaked out.

Lancelot smiled wanly. "You were almost taken by slavers. I don't think that's okay, but I'm grateful for your forgiveness."

Merlin glanced up at the sky's fading light. Lancelot gradually removed his hand once Merlin could sit on his own and moved to one of the men, yanking Merlin's sword out of his stomach. Bile rose in Merlin's throat and he tried to swallow it down, but failed, retching again.

Lancelot returned and Merlin beheld his sword covered in sticky dark red. He turned his head away. "Here." The knight dropped the sword, pulled Merlin up under his arms and helped him back to the horse, situating him in its saddle. "She can help get us back to _our_ horses." The knight picked up Merlin's sword again and grabbed the horse's reins, leading her back downstream. He stopped to dip the bloodied sword in the flowing water and scrub it clean, then led the horse to their own still waiting tied.

Lancelot slid Merlin off the horse and set him against a tree. He rummaged in a pack for another skin of food and laid it and a water skin in Merlin's lap. "Can you move?"

Merlin tried to raise his hand and managed to brush his chin. "Eat then." As Merlin undid the skin, Lancelot dug further in his pack, producing a cloth. He walked away for a few moments to the stream, then returned. He gently placed the now wet cloth against Merlin's cheek. Merlin flinched.

"You've got a nasty bruise forming there," Lancelot informed him. He moved the cloth to his lips and Merlin winced. "It's just a cut. Nothing that won't heal." He continued to clean Merlin's wound, then swiped ointment from a small jar and applied it. "Eat," the knight encouraged when he was finished.

Merlin brought a dried piece of meat to his lips, then lowered it. He glanced at Lancelot. "We have to keep going."

Lancelot assessed the sky. "It's too late. We'll make camp here tonight."

Merlin focused on his lap. Down the stream, two bodies lay unattended, food for the creatures of the night. His stomach flipped again and his eyes filled with sudden tears. A loud sob escaped his lips.

"Merlin!" Lancelot was by his side in an instant, kneeling in front of him, a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. This is my fault."

"I killed them," Merlin gasped between sobs. He kept seeing the man's eyes as life left him, the blankness, the utter emptiness.

"Merlin." Lancelot's voice came out soft. He pulled the boy into him, letting him cry into his shoulder.

When Merlin had spent himself, Lancelot gathered firewood. The forest darkened and stars appeared. The knight tended the fire, wood sparking as he laid new branches on. Merlin hadn't spoken since he'd broken down. Lancelot sat next to him, leaning against the tree. He picked up a stick to fiddle with.

"The first time I killed men, I was on patrol."

Merlin turned his head to the knight.

"Bandits had been accosting people on the south road. King Uther ordered Arthur to take care of it. I'd only been a knight for a few months." Lancelot sighed. "The bandits didn't stand a chance. I'd always thought I'd be proud the first time I killed someone. I was at first, but then we searched through their belongings. We found instruments, books, letters, and I realized I'd killed men just like me."

The knight paused and fixed his eyes on Merlin. "It wasn't wrong for me to kill that day, and it wasn't wrong for you today, but that doesn't mean it's wrong to feel bad, either. If we didn't feel bad, we'd be like those we fight against who hurt others without conscience."

"Like sorcerers," Merlin muttered.

"Hm?"

"They were sorcerers," Merlin said. "Like Arthur said. Sorcerers who use magic for evil."

"That doesn't mean magic is evil."

Merlin ignored the comment. "And Nimueh. She poisoned him." Merlin sucked in a shaky breath.

"What about the Druids?" Lancelot asked quietly.

Merlin tilted his head. The Druids had been good to him and wouldn't have even fought back if the knights hadn't tried to take their children. "Arthur killed them," he whispered.

Lancelot didn't answer. There was silence for a moment, then the knight spoke softly. "Why did you save him then?"

Merlin stared straight ahead. "I'd seen him in my dreams for as long as I can remember. I was supposed to find him." He looked at Lancelot. "Do you think that's crazy?"

Lancelot shook his head. "You have magic. It can do more than I can imagine... The older knights complained about Arthur. Said he hesitated to take the camp."

"He wanted to arrest them," Merlin conceded. "He didn't attack them. Others did."

Lancelot rubbed at his chin. "Arthur does what his father commands because he wants to prove he'll protect the kingdom."

"So he hates magic."

"He follows his father's leading."

Merlin sighed.

Lancelot smiled. "You know, I didn't become a knight to serve Uther. I did it because of Arthur. Because I believe some day he'll be a king I can follow. And something tells me, Merlin, you have a place in his kingdom. He needs you."

Merlin pressed a hand against his aching chest. "I hate hiding who I am from him."

Lancelot placed a sympathetic hand on Merlin's shoulder. "You have to."

Merlin looked to the knight. "He'd kill me."

Lancelot shook his head. "I don't think he'd kill you. He drank poison to save you."

"Then..."

"But he would be devastated. He might not kill you, but he'd certainly send you away. You can't tell him."

Merlin bowed his head, disappointed. "Why did a sorcerer kill his mother?"

"I'm not sure," Lancelot replied. "He doesn't talk about it much. Just that a sorceress attacked his mother, killing her, then turned on him. Uther saved him."

Merlin frowned. No wonder Arthur hated magic and was loyal to his father. Merlin realized he'd been unconsciously turning the bracelet on his wrist. He glanced down at the metal plate with the dragon on it. He could only hope that some day Arthur Pendragon would have heart enough to see that his servant boy used magic for good.

* * *

"Gaius?"

"My lady?"

"Where's Merlin?"

Gaius paused in his work, glancing over at Morgana.

"I've been trying to find him."

"I'm not sure. He's been very upset about the prince."

Morgana breathed out slowly. "Yes. We all have... Poor child." Morgana laid a hand on Arthur's arm.

"You should rest, my lady." Gaius noted how drawn Morgana looked. She'd hardly slept the night before. He'd had too much propriety to ask, but he surmised this was partially due to her nightmares. She feared to sleep.

Morgana massaged the back of her neck. "I'm tired, but I don't want to."

"Have you tried the medicine?"

Morgana nodded.

"Has it helped?"

"I'm not sure."

"I can try a different concoction."

"No, it's alright. You need to think of Arthur."

"It's no trouble."

Morgana looked over at the physician. "You're so good to me, Gaius, but I'll be fine."

Gaius contemplated her as she lay down on her side, her hand still on Arthur's arm. _Merlin, where are you?_ Gaius worried. If Merlin returned too late and Arthur did die, the boy would never forgive himself. Gaius rubbed at his eyes and sat with his elbows propped on his worktable, his head in his hands. _I should have gone with him._ What use was he here?

Gaius closed his eyes. He recalled a time long ago when Nimueh gushed over a spell she'd read and perfected. She'd shown him a bowl of enchanted water. She'd been able to conjure an image of her sister in a town far beyond the citadel. What Gaius wouldn't give for such sight now!

A sudden fear gripped him. What if Nimueh watched Merlin even now? What if she knew he was coming? _I should have taught him. I will teach him. If he ever returns, I swear I will teach him everything I know!_

* * *

By morning, Merlin found his spirits lightened. He still worried over Arthur and regretted he'd killed, but his talk with Lancelot, a good sleep, and a fresh sunrise made a difference. Lancelot applied more ointment to his lip, assessed his bruise, then declared they needed to move on. They left the slavers' mare behind. Lancelot said she'd be able to forage until someone found her. They needed to move quickly.

Their speed and the wind at their backs moved them at a brisk pace. By mid-morning a lake with an island in the middle appeared in the distance. Lancelot paused and pointed. "The Isle of the Blessed."

Merlin stared. "Is that a castle?"

"It used to be home to the ancient priestesses. Uther destroyed it."

 _Of course_ , Merlin thought, _like everything else_.

"Come on. If we move quickly, I think maybe an hour and we'll be there."

Lancelot's estimation turned out to be correct. An hour later found them dismounting at the edge of the lake. A narrow dock extended a little ways into it, and a boat knocked rhythmically against it.

Lancelot peered up and down the shore. "Is there a ferryman, do you think?"

Merlin shrugged. He stepped up onto the dock and walked out to the boat. It was empty and weathered. There weren't any paddles. He reached down to touch it and a vibration shivered up his arm. "It's magic," he breathed out, looking to Lancelot.

The knight joined him on the dock. "So, we just get in it?"

Merlin shrugged again, but stepped into the boat, holding out his arms to keep his balance. Lancelot came behind him. The boat abruptly started to skim along the surface, and Lancelot caught Merlin before he fell, helping him sit down. The castle rose before them, black and ominous against grey clouds that promised rain. Merlin's heart pattered. He still didn't know what he would do when he met Nimueh. After his encounter with the slavers, he knew he could kill her if he had to, but he guessed she was much stronger than they the way Gaius talked about her.

 _I can't fail Arthur. I won't fail_ , Merlin chanted to himself.

The boat stopped, pulling up to a stone dock and an archway. Lancelot exited first, gripping Merlin's arm to steady him as he followed. He drew his sword. Merlin did the same. He followed the knight up a few steps through the archway. Darkness met their eyes.

Merlin held out his hand, producing his glowing light. Lancelot turned with wide eyes. "After we get done with this, I want you to tell me all you can do."

Merlin smiled despite his nerves. They climbed a flight of stairs into a large room. Merlin skirted it, searching for a doorway.

"This sorceress lives here all alone?" Lancelot ruminated, noting the lack of furniture or decoration. "No wonder she nurses revenge."

"Uther killed her family," Merlin commented.

"He _what_?"

Merlin stopped, forgetting Lancelot hadn't known that. "Yeah."

Lancelot stepped close to Merlin. "I thought she just didn't like how Uther treated magic. If he killed her family, she'll never heal Arthur."

Merlin made to chew his bottom lip, but stopped when his wound stung. He didn't think the dragon would send him all this way if there was no hope at all. "I have to talk to her." He continued along the wall and finally came upon a doorway without a door. "Here!" He stepped through and heard a grinding sound.

"Merlin!"

Merlin whipped around to see the doorway shifting, a layer of stone melding in front of it. "Lancelot!" He reached it too late. The stone solidified. He pushed against it. "Lancelot!" He couldn't hear the knight. He turned, staring into the dark with his light, trembling. What should he do?

Lancelot's voice from last night came back to him: _He drank poison to save you._ Merlin squared his shoulders. He moved forward into the darkness.


	18. Nimueh

Merlin wandered, his light reflecting off blank stone walls as he climbed steps and traversed halls. He met no rooms or windows, and his path never branched. His chest was tight, his heartbeat pounding, fearing that around any corner he'd find Nimueh in wait.

After what seemed like hours, Merlin stopped, sitting at the top of a step. He stared into utter darkness, tired of producing his light, but unable to cease the spell, afraid to be plunged into the dark. He felt sapped of his will, hardly remembering why he even came to this place. He closed his eyes. Maybe he should just sleep for a moment. Maybe then he'd have the strength to do what he was supposed to do.

* * *

"Merlin...Don't...Merlin..."

Gwen looked away from the worktable where she aided Gaius. She wiped her hands and moved over to her mistress, gently touching her shoulder. "Morgana?"

Gaius had shuffled over, staring down at the king's ward. "She's had nightmares of late. We should wake her."

Morgana's eyelids fluttered, her voice grew insistent. "Merlin..."

Gwen shook her gently. "Awake, my lady."

" _Fromum feohgiftum on fæder bearme. Fromum feohgiftum._ "

Gwen peered up at Gaius whose face had gone pale. He looked more shocked than she had ever seen him. "What is she saying?"

"Gwen, I need more water. Can you get some?"

"But..." Gwen looked back at Morgana.

"Her words are senseless. She's simply dreaming. I'll help her."

Gwen rose, sending a troubled look to her mistress as she strode to the door and out.

Gaius leaned over Morgana. "Morgana. What is happening to Merlin?" He laid a hand on the ward's head, gently stroking it. "Help him if you can."

All Gaius' fears were confirmed as Morgana's eyes flickered gold, and she muttered once more. " _Hine on ylde eft gewunigen wilgesiþas, þonne wig cume._ "

* * *

Merlin relaxed, succumbing to exhaustion. The light in his hand vanished. He had a vague impression of someone coming down the hall, a breath of wind wafting over him. Icy fingers stretched out towards him, but he didn't flinch when they encircled his neck. He sighed, content, sinking into darkness.

Light exploded, so bright Merlin saw it from behind his eyelids. His head jerked up; his eyes opened. The entire hall glowed with a brilliant white light. An older woman stood before him, long brown hair tied back in hundreds of tiny braids, eyes shining a striking blue, a shredded red dress slipping down a too thin frame. Her skin was deathly pale, her cheeks sunken, her bones protruding. She turned and fled down the hall.

Merlin stood to his feet, energy returning to him as he sprinted after her. "Wait! Stop!" He could hardly believe such a frail looking creature could run so fast. He barely kept up with her, sometimes only following after audible steps. Finally, another door-less opening appeared at the end of a hall, admitting weak sunlight. Merlin approached cautiously.

The warlock peeked around the frame. A courtyard met his eyes, bathed in luscious green grass, misting with sprinkling rain. It was bare, except for a stone table in its center. Merlin gasped. Lancelot lay upon it, bound and gagged. He rushed out of his hiding place, only to duck back again when a bolt of lightning shot towards him. His heart raced.

"How dare you bring a knight of Camelot here!" a voice shrieked.

Merlin pressed against a wall, trying to puzzle out what to do. He didn't have to think long.

"He will die!"

Merlin looked down at his hands. All his life he'd done such little things with the power inside him, but he'd always felt something alluded him. He'd pushed it down, scared of it, and counseled so many times to hide it, but the whirlwind in Ealdor and the sword on this journey had hinted there was more he could do. Magic had begun to swell inside him like before. He grit his teeth and jumped into the light.

He anticipated the lightning, thrusting his hands in front of him, squinting his eyes against its brilliance. He hadn't expected the heat that hit the shield he projected. He kept the lightning from making contact, but the heat washed over him and he cried out as it licked at his skin. His shield collapsed and he knelt to the ground, shaking, bracing himself with his palms. Steam rolled off him as the heat connected with the light rain.

Merlin kept his head up, facing the table and the emaciated woman standing next to it. "Don't...don't hurt him," he begged. "It's my fault...I brought him...Kill me."

Nimueh tilted her head, her eyes seeming to pierce his very soul. "You offer _your_ life?"

Merlin felt tears choke his throat, but nodded.

"What about your dear prince?"

Merlin swallowed hard. "You won't heal him." Arthur would die. A tear slipped down his cheek.

Nimueh placed a hand on Lancelot's chest. " _Swefe nu_." The knight's eyes closed.

"No!" Merlin screamed.

Nimueh's eyes pierced him again. "He sleeps." She moved towards him and Merlin stayed still, meeting her gaze. When she reached him, she leaned down to touch him, then drew back as if she was afraid. Nimueh stared deep into his eyes. "I hadn't expected you to be so young."

Merlin's brow creased.

She whisked back to the table, running a hand along Lancelot's body. "He is a knight of Camelot, loyal to a murderer."

"He doesn't serve Uther!" Merlin exclaimed, rising to his feet, swiping damp bangs away from his forehead.

Nimueh turned her head, eyes blazing. "Anyone who bears the Pendragon crest serves its purposes." She raised her hand and Merlin yelped when the bracelet on his wrist ripped away. Nimueh caught it deftly and brandished it at him. "You serve the Pendragons! You deny your kind!" She flung the bracelet to the ground, then lifted her hand, lightning crackling within it.

Merlin didn't have a moment to prepare, the bolt striking him full in the chest. He was flung backwards, skimming across the ground. His chest burned. He lay unmoving, the breath knocked out of him. He heard footfalls as Nimueh stalked towards him. He desperately sucked in air and by the time she reached him had regained enough strength to draw his sword. He sat up and flung his weapon at her, but it stopped in mid-air, bobbing in the windy currents of the courtyard.

"You're willing to kill me?"

Merlin rubbed at his chest, hardly believing he was alive. "You want to kill Lancelot..." He took a long breath. "And Arthur...and me."

Nimueh began to laugh, an incredulous giggle that soon grew to a mocking cackle. "You are Emrys. I could not hope to kill you." Her expression sobered. "The Pendragons, on the other hand, deserve death."

"Arthur hasn't hurt you!" Merlin argued, ignoring the strange way she had addressed him.

"The prince is indebted to me!" Nimueh screamed. "His life belongs to me and I will have it!" She breathed in and out rapidly, and unshed tears appeared in her eyes. "Kill me if you must." The sword floated to Merlin's hand, and she turned her back on him.

Merlin grasped the sword and stood. The woman had hunched over, her back arching sharply. Merlin stared. Was this a trick? "Will you tell me how to heal Arthur?

Nimueh's head shook back and forth.

"Are you going to kill Lancelot?"

She nodded.

Merlin raised the sword. Arthur had taught him exactly where to stab to cause a fatal blow. He firmed his jaw. He had the ability, he had the courage, but... He lowered the sword. "I can't."

Nimueh turned, grasping him by the arm and leaning down to stare into his eyes. "Kill me!"

"You _want_ to die?"

Nimueh let go his arm and a deep wail wrenched from her throat. She sank to the ground.

"Why?"

"Such a child," Nimueh spat out.

Merlin sheathed his sword, stepping close to the sorceress. He knelt down in front of her, meeting her eyes.

"So much foretold about you, and you're only a child."

"About me?"

"Kill me, Emrys, or let me free you."

Merlin frowned. He felt like he was spinning in riddles. "I'm Merlin."

"So you were named at birth, but Emrys you are and Emrys you always will be."

Merlin sighed. "You sound like Kilgharrah."

Nimueh chuckled, and Merlin smiled slightly at the unexpectedly pleasant sound of it. "The old dragon has taken you under his wing, then. We always did argue over the prophecy."

"The one about me and Arthur."

Nimueh nodded, then suddenly gripped his arm tightly. "You can escape it. Let Arthur die."

Merlin pushed out of her hold. "No! I can't!"

"The Pendragons seek the deaths of all like you!"

"Not Arthur," Merlin asserted.

"I have watched the prince. He hates magic as his father before him. He wields his sword against it."

Merlin bit his lip, running his tongue unconsciously over the scab that had formed. "Arthur can change."

Nimueh scoffed. "Those are the dragon's words."

Merlin's expression grew hard. "I know he can change. He already has."

Nimueh eyed him skeptically.

"He took me in. He's cared for me."

"And yet, have you revealed what you are?"

Merlin's heart skipped a beat, but he whispered. "Some day I will."

"And until that time, when you _think_ Arthur Pendragon will open his heart to magic, you will let him destroy your kind."

"I...I..." Merlin hadn't thought of this before. What if Arthur did try to kill an innocent sorcerer? What would he do?

"Be free. Break the bond between you and the prince."

Merlin thought back to the years of dreams, to Kilgharrah's voice beckoning him to find The Dragon Man, to flinging himself before Arthur at the Druid camp. He thought of the prince tending to his wounds when he'd been beaten, the fear on his face when he'd been thrown from a horse, his secretly coming to Ealdor just to make sure his former servant was safe. Merlin firmed his jaw and stared hard at Nimueh. "I'll never break it. You're wrong. There _is_ good in Arthur. He'll change. I know it."

Nimueh raised her chin, narrowing her eyes. She was quiet for a moment. "What does Gaius think?"

Merlin raised his eyebrows at the unexpected mention of the physician. "I...don't know."

" _He_ chose the Pendragons. He did nothing to help me."

Merlin dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry about your family."

Nimueh began to chuckle again, and Merlin looked up in surprise. "I thought you'd be a man of power, not a child of compassion...You think, then, my family should be denied justice?"

"Arthur didn't kill your family," Merlin said softly.

"Not directly," Nimueh conceded.

Merlin stared at her in confusion.

"He was the cause," she whispered, blinking back tears.

"I don't understand."

"Do you know what I did, Emrys? I served Uther. He called on _me_ when he needed aid, and I placed my skill in his hands. I walked beside him in battle. I healed the sick and dying. I sought ways to keep his enemies at bay. I made his life safe and secure. But he wanted more."

"What?" Merlin whispered, shocked at what he was hearing. Uther had used magic once.

"A child. His wife could not conceive. He asked me to bring life into existence. I warned him there would be a price to pay."

Merlin's heart almost stopped. " _You_ made Arthur?"

"I should never have agreed, but I let the king's grief persuade me. I told him the price was another life, and he was willing to pay it."

Merlin stared, trying to comprehend the truth. Arthur would be born and another die?

"He assumed fate would choose an enemy. It chose his wife. She died so his son might live."

Merlin gaped. "Arthur told me a sorceress killed his mother. And he almost died, too."

"A lie!" Nimueh declared.

"You were the sorceress," Merlin breathed out.

Nimueh's eyes had taken on a faraway look. "Uther held her in his arms, weeping. I stood beside him, sharing his sorrow. He ordered my arrest. I fled. He imprisoned my husband, my sister, my children..." A bony hand covered her eyes, rain dripping down her cheeks intermingling with tears.

Merlin reached out to gently grasp her wrist. "I'm sorry."

The sorceress shuddered. "Uther declared war on magic that day, his love for his wife turned into hate for that which had killed her, proclaiming magic evil and his hand would scrub his kingdom clean." She opened her eyes, fixing them on Merlin. "And that is why I demand justice."

"It's not Arthur's fault."

"He follows his father."

"If he knew the truth..."

"You have such faith in the prince," Nimueh muttered. Her blue eyes shifted, anger fading, resolve growing. They seemed to shine with a hidden light. She cupped a hand to her lips. " _Ǽ_ _l_ _blóstm_ _mort_ _æ_ _us_." She opened her hand to reveal a stem of yellow flowers. She pressed it into Merlin's hand. "Take this. Tell Gaius the cure lies behind the cause. He will understand."

Nimueh stood. Merlin followed. She walked back to the table, a hand hovering over Lancelot's forehead. The knight opened his eyes, looking weary. His bonds dissolved.

Nimueh leaned down to the ground, picking up Merlin's discarded bracelet. She handed it to him and Merlin saw it was now intact. He slid it onto his wrist. "I will not be here if you seek me again," Nimueh said.

Merlin wondered at the warning as the sorceress glided away from him and disappeared through an archway at the back of the courtyard.

"Lancelot," Merlin called out, placing a hand on his arm. The knight sat up, rubbing at his neck.

"I was trying to break through the door and then..." He gazed around the courtyard. "I don't know what happened."

"It was Nimueh. I talked to her. I know how to heal Arthur!"

Lancelot pushed himself off the table, taking a long breath. "Then let's go."

Merlin had been afraid he'd have to puzzle out the maze back to the boat, but found when he reentered the doorway one long hall running straight to the stone dock. When they reached the shores of the lake, they mounted their horses and galloped as fast as possible to the north.

Merlin felt the flower stem in his pocket. His heart soared, imagining the future. He'd get back to Camelot. They'd heal Arthur, and then he'd tell him the truth about his birth. Arthur would know his father used magic, would see Uther's wrong, and then he'd _have_ to admit magic could be good, wouldn't he?


	19. The Bond of Sacrifice

"Gaius?"

The physician looked over from his seat next to the prince. "Yes, my lady?"

"I had another dream."

"I fear I've been unable to help you."

Morgana yawned. "You've done what you can. They do make me tired, though. They're so real."

"What was it this time?" Gaius inquired.

"Merlin again." Morgana sighed. "He was in some dark danger. I actually felt I released him from it."

Gaius covered his sigh of relief with a hand.

"I suppose I'm worried for him. He's grown so attached to Arthur. If Arthur were to die..." She cut off, choking on a sob and brushing her eyes. She looked down at the prince. "If he could see me. He always says no man is worth tears."

"I don't think that's true, my lady," Gaius disagreed.

"Neither do I." Morgana laughed softly. "But you know what use it is to argue about things like that with him. Not that I don't try." Her eyes twinkled behind unshed tears. She coughed and glanced around the room. "Have you seen him?"

"Merlin?" Gaius asked.

Morgana nodded.

"Not yet."

Morgana's brow furrowed. "He must have hidden himself away. I should find him." She stood and moved towards the door.

"Morgana!" Gaius called out, standing.

"What?"

"I think it best to leave him to me."

"But..."

"The boy's grief, I fear, embarrasses him."

Morgana considered Gaius for a moment.

"Besides, Gwen was in not long ago. She was very upset. I believe she needs you more than Merlin right now."

Morgana's eyes grew sad. "Yes. Poor girl."

"I will find Merlin. You see to Gwen."

"Of course I will." She opened the door and exited.

Gaius sank down in the chair again. He placed a hand against the prince's neck for the umpteenth time. The pulse was sluggish. "Hurry home, Merlin," Gaius whispered. Merlin was Arthur's only hope—if he'd even managed to convince Nimueh to give up the antidote.

* * *

"Gwen?" Morgana called out tentatively as she pushed open the door to the servant's chambers. The girl often slept in the small room across from hers when she stayed overnight in the castle. Morgana caught the girl's shoulders shaking before she jumped up and turned, a handkerchief to her eyes.

"Yes, my lady? I'm sorry. I meant to return. What do you need?"

Morgana smiled gently. "Nothing. Please sit back down."

Gwen bowed her head and perched on the bed, back straight as an arrow. Morgana moved around the bed to sit down next to her. "I've known you too long for you to pretend with me. I'm not here as your lady, but your friend."

Gwen visibly relaxed. Morgana wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Gwen wiped at her eyes again.

"You're worried about Arthur," Morgana spoke quietly.

"We all are," the girl replied.

"But there's more to it, isn't there?"

Gwen bit her lip.

"I'm not blind. Though Arthur may be." She chuckled. "Or he hasn't let on he's noticed."

"What, my lady?"

"That you are enamored of him."

"I..I'm not."

Morgana squeezed the girl's shoulders. "It's alright, Gwen. You aren't going to get in trouble from me. Arthur has turned girls' heads ever since hair appeared on his chin."

"Did he turn yours?"

Morgana laughed. "Only a little. He's like a brother, and one I don't intend to unite myself with in that way." She paused, resting her head against Gwen's. "He'll live. He has to. Life would be too lonely without him."

Gwen pushed away, brushing a hand against Morgana's cheek to wipe away a tear. "Yes, my lady." Though their eyes met, and each suspected their exchange was a lie to forget the inevitable for a few fleeting moments.

* * *

The travel back to Camelot came swift and easy. Merlin tensed when they met a couple of unsavory characters on the road, but Lancelot's warlike expression and hand on the hilt of his sword kept them at bay. When they passed the gate to the lower town, Merlin stared upwards at the castle looming on the hill and his tower room. His stomach twisted as he thought again of Arthur lying deathly pale in Gaius' chambers. When they reached the courtyard, Lancelot dismounted. Merlin practically leaped off his horse. He heard Lancelot calling after him that he'd report to the king.

Merlin dashed through the halls of the castle, narrowly avoiding various servants as he raced to the tower. He took the spiral staircase two steps at a time and stumbled through Gaius' door.

"Gaius! I have the cure!" His eyes went to Arthur and his heart sank. He looked far worse than he had a week ago. He was white as a sheet and so very still. "He's dead?"

Gaius had come running to him and pulled him into an embrace. "Merlin! Heavens, boy, how I've worried about you. He's alive, but only just."

"Here," Merlin said, fumbling with his pocket to reveal the flower stem. "Nimueh said the cure lies behind the cause. She said you'd know what it meant."

Gaius snatched the flower from Merlin's hands and drew it close to his eye, studying it. "Mortaeus," he whispered. "Quite rare." He rubbed at his chin.

"Hurry!" Merlin urged.

Gaius looked to his charge. "I'm not sure what she meant."

"But..."

"Let me think." He paced back and forth for a few moments, recalling the times he had worked with Nimueh. She'd been so clever, in some ways tricky, and here again she presented him with a riddle rather than the direct answer. Did she intend him to fail to rub salt in the wounds of Arthur's death? "Cure behind the cause," he mumbled to himself.

Gaius stopped pacing. He glanced at Merlin, his breath quickening. He didn't even attempt to make the boy leave. It was time to reveal the truth. He marched to the shelf with the skull, withdrew it, and pushed his hand into the wall. He expected Merlin to gasp, but instead the boy made an incredulous statement.

"It _is_ yours."

As he withdrew the grimoire, Gaius laid wide eyes on Merlin. "You know about this?"

Merlin shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "I found it."

Gaius stared. "You didn't think to tell me?"

"I wasn't _sure_ it was yours."

Gaius shook his head, but didn't have time to delve into a conversation about Merlin's openness with him. Instead he slapped the book down on his worktable and turned to the page with Nimueh's spell for the poison. He hovered a hand over it and didn't look at Merlin as he spoke his first spell in almost twenty years. " _Bemelde_." The spell in the book faded from sight and another replaced it. All this time the answer had been within his reach.

"Merlin! Crush this." He held out the flower. Merlin didn't respond, and he looked to the boy gaping at him.

"You...know magic."

"We don't have time to discuss this," Gaius insisted, grasping the boy's chin and making him look him in the eye. "Crush the flower now."

Merlin took the flower back and moved to the mortar and pestle, mashing it as quickly as possible.

"I don't know when anyone else will appear, and we must finish this before they arrive."

The physician sped around the room faster than Merlin had ever seen him, dumping various contents into a bowl and stirring them. He grabbed the mortar away from Merlin. The flower had been crushed sufficiently. He shook the contents into the bowl and mixed it thoroughly. Then he stood before the grimoire, reading the spell. It was far more complicated than one word. He took a deep breath, worried the correct pronunciation would elude him.

" _Seópan ærest wearð feasceaft funden. Denum æfter dom. Dreamleas gebad he gewann langsum_."

The liquid in the bowl began to boil, steaming, then cooled almost instantly and turned a shade of yellow. Gaius blew out a relieved breath. It was like remembering a poem one had memorized in one's youth—the magic tongue had come back easily, an old friend returning from a long holiday.

"Return the book," the physician ordered as he poured the potion into a vial, then moved to Arthur's bedside. Merlin shoved the grimoire back into its hiding place not a moment too soon. The door opened and the king rushed in.

Merlin replaced the skull, and turned, staring in both fear and anger at the man he'd learned was even more awful than he'd previously thought.

"Gaius! Lancelot says you have the antidote," the king exclaimed.

"I'm giving it to the prince now, sire. Help me."

As Uther lifted Arthur's head, Lancelot stepped into the chambers. He eyed Merlin and seeing his gaze, moved to stand next to him and place a supporting hand on his shoulder.

Gaius held the vial to Arthur's lips, pouring with one hand, massaging his neck with the other, the same way he'd managed to get bits of water into him throughout the week. Arthur swallowed reflexively. Gaius kept at it until the vial was empty. He pressed a hand to Arthur's neck.

"Well?" Uther asked.

"A moment, sire, and we shall see."

Gaius' creased brow slowly relaxed and he smiled. "His heart strengthens, my lord."

Uther gasped out and placed a hand over his eyes, overcome. His bent back leaning over Arthur heaved as he was racked with sobs. Merlin's anger softened a little. Whatever Uther had done, even he could see how much he loved Arthur.

"Father?" Arthur's voice was hoarse and weak from disuse, but everyone in the room felt overwhelming gratification wash over them. Merlin smiled widely. Arthur lived.

"Arthur," Uther breathed out through his tears, throwing himself over his son.

Arthur coughed and blinked lazily. "Th...thirsty."

Gaius retrieved a fresh cup of water and held it to Arthur's lips. "Slowly, sire." Arthur sipped, then breathed out and sank back on the cot, closing his eyes. Uther had grasped his hand.

"Arthur?"

Arthur's eyelids fluttered.

"He's just exhausted, sire," Gaius explained.

Uther nodded. He turned his head and Merlin swallowed uncomfortably when the king's gaze landed on him. "Come here, boy."

Lancelot squeezed his shoulder and walked beside him to the king. Merlin glanced at Arthur, then back to the king when he spoke. "Sir Lancelot tells me you took it upon yourself to track down the sorceress with his aid."

Lancelot nudged Merlin gently in his back to prompt a response. "Yes, my lord."

"We are fortunate for the rumor. Though I am disappointed the sorceress escaped."

Lancelot spoke up to cover Merlin's frown. "Yes. We had heard of a sorceress while on patrol that might inhabit the ancient castle of the priestesses."

"Oh. Yes," Merlin confirmed.

Uther grew serious. "I wish you had taken more than one knight along with you, but I...understand why you didn't come to me."

Merlin stared in shock as the king humbled himself before him.

"You saved my son. My accusation against you was unwarranted."

Merlin bowed his head. "Sire," he mumbled, not certain how you were supposed to respond to a king's admission.

The door opened again and the moment was lost as Morgana and Gwen burst into the room. Merlin was surrounded by chaos as the women expressed their joy over Arthur's survival, praised Merlin when it was revealed he'd been responsible, and joined the growing crowd surrounding Arthur's cot. Gaius soon hushed them all, declaring the prince needed his rest. Uther insisted Arthur be taken to his own room for quiet and comfort. Merlin watched as the prince was carted away by Lancelot and a castle guard.

Morgana embraced him one more time before she followed. "Gaius told me you were grieving," she said, lifting her eyebrows at the physician.

Gaius bowed his head. "I didn't want to cause you undue worry, my lady."

Morgana smiled, humor on her lips. "I never thought of you as sly, Gaius, but I think you might rival even me." She smoothed Merlin's hair with her hand. "Thank you, Merlin."

Merlin nodded bashfully at her touch. Gwen paused before trailing behind her mistress, throwing her arms around him and kissing his cheek. She touched his face tenderly where his bruise had yellowed. "You were hurt."

"I'm okay."

"You did it," she whispered. "I didn't know if you really could, but you did. You're wonderful, Merlin."

Gwen left, hurrying to catch up with her mistress. Merlin made to leave, thinking to tag along until he could talk to Arthur, but Gaius called out.

"Merlin! I think you need to stay."

Merlin looked back at the physician.

"We need to talk."

* * *

Gaius closed Merlin's door. "Sit."

"I want to be with Arthur."

"Arthur needs rest, and you won't get near him for some time with the king and Morgana at his side. Now _sit_."

Merlin trudged to his bed and slumped down. Gaius joined him, reaching out to tilt his chin, his right eyebrow raised as he assessed the bruise on his cheek and the scab along his bottom lip. "Nimueh did this?"

Merlin shook his head. "Slavers."

"Slavers?"

"They tried to take me."

"It's good _you_ took Lancelot." Gaius sounded guarded.

Merlin nodded.

"What does he know?"

Merlin swallowed nervously.

"You told him?"

"Not exactly."

"Merlin..."

"He guessed!"

"And how much magic has he seen to be able to guess?" Gaius asked in exasperation.

Merlin fingered the scab along his lip. "Eh...Well... He thought maybe I had magic in Ealdor."

Gaius narrowed his eyes. Merlin hadn't reported much occurring in Ealdor. "What did you do?"

"Raiders came, and there was a fight and, well, I kind of used my magic to save my mother."

"And Lancelot saw?"

"Not really, but he thought maybe it was me 'cause he saw me hiding."

Gaius shook his head. "What if _Arthur_ guesses?"

"He won't. He thinks it was my mother. She said it was her."

Gaius raised his chin. That explained why Arthur had seemed withdrawn from Merlin for a time. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. They let her stay. Told her not to study magic."

Gaius fixed his eyes on Merlin. "You trust Lancelot?"

Merlin nodded. "He helped me, Gaius. He won't tell anyone."

"You have to be careful. You have to choose wisely who to trust. Like I had to."

"Why didn't you tell me you knew magic?" Merlin asked, a hint of accusation sounding within the hurt.

Gaius sighed, leaning over with his elbows on his knees. "You know how unsafe it is to use it or even mention it here. I wished I could tell you, but I wanted to protect you."

"I thought you didn't understand me," Merlin whispered.

"I understand far more than you know, but I only studied magic. I wasn't born with it like you. You're unique, Merlin. Your magic has a grander purpose than mine ever will."

Merlin wrapped his hands around his middle. "Nimueh asked me about you. How did you know her?"

"Uther often called on her for aid. I was only his physician, simply learning all I could of the healing arts back then, magic or not. I didn't equal Nimueh, and my study was far more peaceful, but at times we conversed, and she taught me a thing or two. Then the Purge happened and changed everything."

Merlin stared at the physician, and his voice came out low. "She told me the truth."

"About?"

"Arthur."

Gaius' expression grew wary. "What did she say?"

"Uther used magic to make him."

Gaius frowned.

"And he lied," Merlin spat out. "He said a sorceress killed Arthur's mother and tried to kill him, but Nimueh just did what he wanted." Merlin set his jaw. "And I'm going to tell Arthur the truth."

Gaius clamped a hand on Merlin's knee. "You aren't going to tell Arthur anything."

Merlin stared disbelieving at Gaius. "Gaius..."

"Uther didn't lie to Arthur."

Merlin cocked his head, the fire in his words dying. "W-what?"

Gaius smiled gently and patted the boy's knee. "I'm sure both Uther and Nimueh have their own views of what happened the night Arthur was born, but I was there."

"You were?"

Gaius nodded. "The queen had lost much blood, and I tried everything to save her, but she still died."

"So Nimueh didn't kill her!"

"In Uther's view she did."

"But..."

"It's not simple, Merlin. Nimueh incanted the spell that brought Arthur into existence. Uther holds her responsible for Ygraine's death. He hasn't told Arthur the details, so perhaps he's let the prince come to his own conclusions, but Uther feels he is justified. I'm also certain Nimueh doesn't hold herself responsible for the death of the queen because she did what the king desired, though even I warned her the creation of life should be left alone."

" _Did_ she try to kill Arthur?"

Gaius nodded. "Uther was angry. As the midwife washed his son, he screamed at Nimueh. He blamed her and said so many terrible things. He ordered her arrest. She said he didn't deserve a son and turned her magic on Arthur. Uther jumped in front of Arthur and was critically wounded. It took all my knowledge of healing to keep him from dying."

"She lied to me," Merlin said, his voice breaking.

"Perhaps she didn't intend to. She sees herself as justified as Uther... You could tell Arthur his father relied on magic to bring him into being, but you would also have to tell him his mother's death came about _because_ of him. I think it would weigh too heavily on the prince to know his birth brought about her death, and I can only think Nimueh would wish the prince to know this to cause a rift between him and the king that might threaten the kingdom."

Merlin wrung his hands in his lap, all the hopes he'd had about Arthur accepting magic's good flying away.

"Uther _did_ save Arthur that night. Even if you were able to convince Arthur to listen to you, I highly doubt he would believe that a sorceress who attempted to kill him as an infant and meant to poison him as a man wouldn't lie. Given the choice, he will choose Uther's explanation over Nimueh's."

"But, the Purge," Merlin stammered, trying to salvage any hopes he had left. "Nimueh's family..."

Gaius sighed wearily. "Uther sought Nimueh because she became a traitor when she attempted to kill the prince. No one could help her. She had, indeed, committed a crime. Uther arrested her family for hiding and aiding a traitor to the crown. Such a charge is grievous. I disagreed with Uther then, but he thought Nimueh would come to him before they were executed. She didn't. Her husband and sister were killed; her adult children exiled to a harsh land and never heard from again."

Merlin rubbed at his eyes, warring with the conflicting emotions inside him.

"As for the Purge, it didn't happen all at once. There was much unchecked magic in that day, magic Uther overlooked because he took advantage of it for his own purposes. After Arthur's birth, he saw dark magic for what it was. He repented of his use of it and sought its elimination. His hatred of magic in all forms deepened, and eventually he came to view any use of magic as a gateway to evil. He believes magic leads to corruption. He decided to remove this threat from his kingdom forever. Arthur knows his father used magic in the past. He knows he turned on it. You won't be able to convince Arthur the Purge was wrong."

Gaius sat up, laying an arm around Merlin's shoulders. "Despite his wrongs, some of what Uther did was justified. That's why I stayed in the beginning. I never thought all magic was evil, and I'm sorry to say when Uther turned his sights on every bit of magic, I gave it up to save my place and my life. Perhaps I was a coward...but no more."

Merlin looked up at Gaius, fighting back tears.

"You're gifted, Merlin. The magic in you can bring about great things. I promise to do what I can to assist you. I want to teach you."

Merlin felt a glimmer of hope reappear. "Teach me?"

"If you'll let me, I will show you what I know, but I suspect I will learn as much from you as you from me." The physician smiled kindly.

Merlin's visage brightened as he peered up at Gaius. "I want to know everything."

* * *

Merlin spent some time alone, hiding himself away under a rarely used staircase. So much had happened, and he could hardly think. Arthur was alive, but still couldn't know the truth about magic. He had saved him, but couldn't tell the prince how. Gaius had magic and would teach him. And Uther—he wasn't sure how to feel about a king who was humble enough to apologize to him and willing to die for his son, yet hated magic with all his heart.

In the end, he decided nothing much had changed. He couldn't tell Arthur about his magic, but he hadn't told Arthur ever since he'd met him. He would go on being Arthur's servant and waiting for the day he _could_ tell him.

He made his way to Arthur's chambers, slipping through the side door meant for servants. He bowed his head when he beheld Uther at Arthur's besdside. "My lord."

Uther looked over at him. "Ah. Have you come to wait on him?"

"I...can, my lord."

"I'm afraid I must leave for some time. He sleeps now. Keep him comfortable."

"Yes, sire."

Uther rose, casting one last glance at Arthur before exiting.

Merlin sauntered slowly to the bed, studying the prince. He seemed healthy and strong, only resting. The poison had been banished completely. Merlin moved about the room, picking up what had been left unattended when Arthur hadn't returned from the feast. He placed some more wood in the fireplace and sat cross-legged before it, jabbing it with a poker.

"Merlin."

Merlin jumped up when he heard Arthur's voice. "Sire!" He dropped the poker and ran to his bed.

"A drink," Arthur said, peering at him with tired blue eyes.

"Yes, sire." He poured a cup of wine from a pitcher on the table and returned. "Do you need help, sire?"

Arthur shook his head weakly, pushing himself up to sit against the headboard of his bed. He took the cup and slowly downed it. Merlin reached out to take it back, but Arthur laid the cup in his lap and grabbed his wrist.

"Drinking poison? You need to stop trying to save me."

Merlin lowered his eyes. "I _should_ have drank it. I'm just a servant; you're going to be a king."

Arthur shook his wrist. "Merlin." Merlin looked up. "You're not just a servant. You have the courage of a king."

Merlin blinked, tears springing to his eyes at the pride in Arthur's tone.

"Come up here." Arthur patted the bed next to him.

Merlin glanced at the door. "Your father."

"He won't be back for some time, and it doesn't matter. You're my servant, not his."

Merlin climbed up to sit next to Arthur, pulling his knees into his chest. "Why..."

"Why what?" Arthur asked at Merlin's hesitance.

"Why _did_ you drink it? I mean, besides to save me."

"Do I need another reason?"

"But, the kingdom needs you."

"I suppose I wasn't thinking of the kingdom. I knew my father wouldn't believe you unless _someone_ drank it."

Merlin picked at the bed cover. "About saving you..."

"Lancelot's been in to see me. I know."

Merlin glanced at him, eyes wide. "You know?"

"You and he tracked down the sorceress. He says you were brave, and she listened to you. I guess she couldn't very well refuse a child."

"I guess not," Merlin murmured.

Arthur gestured to his cheek. "Lancelot also told me you used your sword to fight off slavers. Well done. Though, perhaps let him deal with them next time."

Merlin smiled and Arthur returned it. The prince sobered.

"The truth is, Merlin, I've come to appreciate your presence, and I don't intend to let you die under my watch. I promised your mother I'd protect you. So let's stop trying to get ourselves killed, alright? It will make my job a whole lot easier."

"I'll try, sire," Merlin vowed.

"And one more thing."

"Sire?"

"Call me 'Arthur.'"

Merlin sat up straighter. "You mean it?"

"Well, at least when my father isn't around." Arthur winked and Merlin grinned widely back. "You've saved me, what, twice now? I think a first name basis is appropriate." He ruffled Merlin's hair, and Merlin leaned against his arm.

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"You, too, Merlin. You, too."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I'm dividing this fic into the years Merlin is in Camelot. The next chapter will begin Year Two! Thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, reviewed, and messaged me. I am overwhelmed by your taking a chance and journeying with me in this AU world! I appreciate every click and every word. Thank you!


	20. Masks and Machinations

**Year Two**

Merlin mouthed silently as he sounded out a rather complicated word. So intense was his concentration, he didn't hear the door to Gaius' chambers open.

"Merlin!"

His head snapped up, and he winced at the sound of glass bottles shattering on the floor. Gaius' face had clouded with anger. "I told you not to do that!"

Merlin gulped. "I just wanted to read."

"And what if I had been the king? Or Arthur? Or anyone else?"

Merlin stood up from the table, moving to the bottles he'd been supposed to be cleaning but had set an enchantment on a cloth to do it for him. He crouched down to view the pieces. "I know I shouldn't. I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

Gaius sighed loudly, passing Merlin with wares purchased from the market. "I _don't_ want to have to deal with getting you out of an execution!"

" _Gestrice pa ampellan_ ," Merlin commanded. The glass shards swirled in the air momentarily, sorting themselves out then drew together. Merlin held his hand out, directing them to the table. He looked up to see Gaius shaking his head at the repaired bottles.

"I'm coming to regret teaching you so much," the physician grumbled.

Merlin smiled slightly. "No, you're not." He slid back onto his seat, staring down at the grimoire.

"Hmph," Gaius muttered. "I _will_ regret it the first time I visit you in the dungeon."

"I'm not going to get locked up in the dungeon."

"Then stop doing foolish things like that!" Gaius shouted, gesturing to the bottles.

"I know, I know," Merlin mumbled. "It's just so...stupid, Gaius!"

"Merlin..."

"I have magic! It's not my fault, and all I can do is try to ignore it all the time, but it's always there under my skin wanting to be used, and I can't!"

Gaius let out a resigned breath, moving over to Merlin. He laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Merlin. Not for reprimanding you—you deserve that. I'm sorry you live in a place and time where you can't be fully who you are."

Merlin swallowed, feeling guilty. He peered up at the physician's compassionate gaze. "I really am sorry. I won't do it again. I mean it."

"I know you won't. For all your transgressions, you're at least sincere." Gaius raised his right eyebrow and smirked as he moved off to sort through his shopping. "What are you working on?"

Merlin stared back at the grimoire. "Another healing spell."

"Ah," Gaius intoned.

Merlin skimmed the incantation and the accompanying drawing of a person with spots all over his body. This spell healed boils. "Gaius?"

"Hm?"

"Why don't you just use magic to heal people? I mean, when they're asleep."

"It's dangerous."

"But, you could do so much to help them."

"Yes, and then the king would wonder how my patients get better instantly, and I'd find _my_ head on the chopping block."

Merlin ran a finger over the spell. He understood what Gaius was saying, but he didn't think he'd be able to stop himself from healing someone if he could. "Why is healing so hard for me?" he wondered aloud. So far he'd only managed to complete the one spell he'd used when he healed his sprained ankle. He'd used rats with various ailments to practice on and none had responded. Gaius hated rats and made him dispose of them when he found out what he was doing.

"Healing magic is quite complicated," Gaius said as he poured powder into a jar. "Potions aren't difficult if you have the correct ingredients, but to directly heal one has to be in tune with a particular person. Some magic healers connect easily to others."

"Do you?"

"Sometimes, but I wouldn't say I had the gift. My ability was always stronger in the mixing of elements."

"I guess that means I'm not a healer," Merlin muttered.

"Not yet. Perhaps your skill will grow."

Merlin read the spell over again, then turned the page.

"Better get dressed," Gaius said, eying the nightclothes he still wore. "Aren't you supposed to report to Arthur?"

"Yeah." Merlin stood, returning the grimoire to its hiding place, and dashing away to his room, eager to move from magic lessons to weapons training.

* * *

"Relax," Arthur counseled. "You're holding it like it's going to take flight."

Merlin loosened his hold on the crossbow.

"The best way to hit the target is to aim at a speck on it. Don't look at the whole thing." Arthur stepped closer to Merlin, placing his palm underneath the crossbow and lifting it up. "And hold it higher."

"It's heavy," Merlin complained, rolling his shoulders.

"You'll get used to it. Are you aiming?"

"I think so."

"Then let it loose."

The bolt zipped away and brushed the rim of the target. Merlin let out a frustrated breath. Another miss.

"Try again."

"Why are we even doing this?" Merlin asked. "I'm fine with a bow."

"Because you never know what weapon might be at hand, especially in a surprise attack. I want you to be prepared to use anything." Arthur perched his hands on his hips. "So do it again."

Merlin raised the crossbow, aiming with a furrowed brow. His skin prickled. How much easier it would be to direct the bolt using magic! He could do it. Arthur was standing behind him. He probably wouldn't notice. Merlin's magic rose to the surface... _No!_ He'd promised Gaius, and if Arthur became even a little suspicious it would ruin everything. He couldn't risk his relationship with Arthur over a sorry excuse for employing magic.

Merlin took a deep breath, trying to remember all Arthur's directions. He stared at the target, at the barest hint of a white speak on the black bull's eye. He released the bolt—and whooped. He hit it dead center. Arthur ruffled his hair and Merlin grinned up at him. Arthur often did that when he was proud or trying to comfort him.

"You _can_ do it. Remember, Merlin, never say you can't do something. Keep at it until you do it. You just need to practice." Arthur craned his neck up to look at the sky. "Unfortunately, there's more for us to do today. Time for correspondence."

Merlin groaned.

"I thought you liked writing," Arthur said as he retrieved the crossbow from Merlin's hands.

"Not after I've been holding that heavy thing," Merlin said, pointing to the crossbow.

Arthur held the weapon aloft with a teasing smile. "It's light."

"For you."

Arthur titled his head, sizing him up. "Alright, Merlin, you've convinced me."

"No correspondence?"

"It can wait a little. I think we need to build your muscle. A few rounds of lifting those stones will do it."

Merlin glanced at the large stones sitting to the side of the yard. He turned back to Arthur. "I'll write."

"Oh, no. You don't get out of it now. Get over there and let me see you put your back into it."

Merlin moaned as he stamped away and attempted to lift the first stone.

* * *

"My hand hurts," Merlin grumbled, shaking his writing hand and then yawning.

"How many have you finished?" Arthur asked.

"Two."

"You're on the third?"

"Just started."

"Finish it."

Merlin clenched his jaw, but Arthur noted he plunged ahead anyway. Not for the first time he admired Merlin's hardworking nature. He'd found himself so grateful for his servant boy over the last three months. Of course, he was thankful before. More than thankful. He was... Arthur blinked as a strange thought came to him. _I'm not lonely._

What did loneliness have to do with it? He'd never been lonely. He'd had Morgana and Lancelot and a dozen other friends. He sat down at the table, staring blankly at a parchment that had come for him that morning. Alright, he admitted to himself, he had been lonely _at times._ Lancelot was a fine friend, Morgana a fine surrogate sister, but neither of them had been a constant. They each had their own interests and duties, but Merlin... Merlin was dedicated to him. The boy worked so hard to please him and was always up for conversation or anything Arthur proposed. Arthur felt Merlin was someone he could always count on filling the endless hours.

"Arthur?"

Arthur looked up. " _Finish_."

"It's not that, I just... This is a declaration for a tournament."

"Yes. It will be held in two weeks time."

"Can girls participate?"

"Girls?" Arthur asked incredulously. "No. It's being held in a woman's honor as it should be. Girls do not fight."

"But Morgana does."

"And she's never been in a tournament. That's not how it works."

"But what if the girl was really good?"

"Merlin! No girl is that good."

"Gwen is." Merlin had stopped writing, staring at Arthur.

Arthur dropped his gaze to the parchment in his hands, reading over part of the paragraph once more— _We return in two weeks time for the joyous announcement of the betrothal of the royal prince to our esteemed princess. We are pleased to attend the tournament in her honor._

"Guinevere couldn't participate," Arthur mumbled.

"But you think she _is_ good, don't you?"

"I wouldn't know."

"You watch her practice with Lancelot."

Arthur's head jerked up, his eyes wide. "What?"

"I see you all the time."

Arthur glared at Merlin. Maybe he'd have been better off without a servant boy after all. How in the world had the boy caught him hiding—no, _observing_ —the practice? He knew Merlin attended, of course. He'd actually felt quite left out. Even Morgana showed up at their practice sessions now and then.

"I don't think Gwen knows."

"I've just been curious," Arthur covered, but he guessed Merlin's twinkling eyes saw right through him.

"Do you love her?"

"No!" Arthur practically shouted, then forced himself to speak more calmly, ignoring the corners of Merlin's mouth that hinted at a smile. "I do not _love_ her. You know very well princes do not associate themselves with servant girls."

"You should."

" _Mer_ lin..." Arthur warned.

"I just think you could learn something from her. You should _associate_ with her just to get better."

Arthur guffawed. "So that's what you think of my swordplay."

Merlin shrugged.

"I don't need a servant girl to instruct me."

Merlin dipped his quill back in the inkwell and began to scratch out the proclamation again. "It's okay if you're scared," he spoke quietly.

Arthur's anger flared. "I swear I'm going to thrash you."

Merlin didn't look up, knowing the threat baseless. "It's fine, Arthur. I won't tell anyone."

"Merlin!"

Merlin glanced up, his blue eyes large and annoyingly innocent.

"I am _not_ afraid, and you better stop mocking me."

"I don't think you're afraid, exactly."

"Then what _do_ you think?"

"You're worried she'll show you up, and you'll feel foolish."

Arthur drummed his fingers on the table and stared into Merlin's too wise expression. That was _exactly_ why he hadn't attempted to invite himself along. That and something inside him felt...odd whenever he was around Guinevere these days. Maybe it was Lancelot's ridiculous gushing over her, but he kept thinking of her in Ealdor, full of spirit and boldness. All that had disappeared when they came back here, and she transformed into a perfect servant. She was a contradiction and for some reason he had the desire to puzzle her out.

"She wouldn't _show me up_ ," Arthur proclaimed, "so there would be no reason for me to worry."

"Then come. We're practicing tomorrow."

Arthur flexed his jaw. He already knew that. He had their schedule down pat. "I think I'm in council with my father."

"Oh. Then, forget it," Merlin said as he continued on the parchment.

Arthur scowled at the boy's bowed raven head. If he didn't show up, Merlin would have more fuel to toss at him. And heaven forbid his servant tell Lancelot he refused to go. He'd never hear the end of it from the knight. "I'll go one time," he announced, blurting it out before he regretted it. "That's all."

Merlin looked up, grinning.

Arthur folded the parchment he'd been reading, chastising himself for being goaded by a child! He really shouldn't do something like this, he thought as he fingered the parchment. Not when the future of his life had already been decided for him.

* * *

"Arthur's coming to practice with you!" Merlin called out as he finally tracked Gwen down in a hallway, a tray of food in her hands.

"W-what?" the girl stammered.

"Tomorrow at practice, he'll be there."

"Why?" Gwen asked, shifting the tray in her hands and hurrying down the hall, Merlin trailing after her.

"Because I told him he should come."

"Merlin!" Gwen reprimanded, stopping and twirling to face him. "You shouldn't have."

Merlin stared at her in confusion. "But you like Arthur."

"No one can know that," Gwen whispered harshly.

"It's kind of obvious."

Gwen's eyes suddenly became moist.

Merlin bit his lip. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd mind."

Gwen sighed. "You were just trying to be a friend," she mumbled. She walked on again, Merlin at her side with slumped shoulders. "I'm not that good."

"You are," Merlin muttered. "And Arthur needs to see you are. Then, maybe, well..."

Gwen glanced sideways at him. "Then what?"

"He might...like you, too."

Gwen stopped outside a door, looking evenly at Merlin like a disgruntled mother. "Even if you managed to get something like that to happen, we couldn't do anything about it."

"About what?" a new voice joined the conversation—Morgana, who took the tray out of Gwen's quivering hands.

"Nothing, my lady," Gwen said, curtsying and bowing her head.

Merlin bowed slightly. Morgana lifted his chin. "And what has you so down, my Merlin?"

Merlin couldn't help but smile a little at the way she'd started addressing him a couple months ago. "I did something stupid."

"He invited Arthur to practice with Lancelot and me," Gwen mumbled.

Morgana's face broke into a wide grin. "Did he?"

Gwen looked up in shock at her delighted voice. "My lady?"

"It's about time Arthur be forced to admit how good you are, Gwen."

"He already did after Ealdor."

" _That_ was simply an acknowledgment that you helped him out in a tough spot." The dark haired woman tapped a finger on her chin. "This, though...you can humble him."

"I-can't."

"I did when I was your age," Morgana argued. "He was younger then, but you're so much better than even I was."

"I'm really not," Gwen protested, looking between Morgana and Merlin's expressions—one scheming, one hopeful.

Morgana smiled kindly. "You've nothing to fear, Gwen." She nodded to the door. The serving girl opened it, and Morgana walked through to set the tray on her table.

"So you'll come tomorrow?" Merlin asked Morgana. The ward didn't always show up, though she had more often recently.

Morgana grinned. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Gwen groaned.


	21. Affairs of the Heart

Gwen smoothed her pants for the millionth time and ran a hand through any tangles in her hair. She usually wore it up, but she'd heard Arthur favored long hair in the women he'd liked. Not that he'd had too many romances; the king kept him on a tight leash where girls were concerned. Gwen stared at herself in a mirror. "You shouldn't," she told herself. Silly girls dreams should never be indulged. Her brother had told her that. Well, not exactly that. He'd been referring to his own.

Gwen twirled a loose hair between her fingers, thinking of Elyan. Her older brother had always been unsatisfied with the life of a blacksmith. He craved adventure, but that brought mostly trouble. She recalled the frequent arguments between her father and brother. Two years ago had been the worst of all, when Elyan spent time in the stocks. Her father had been shamed, and they had almost come to blows until Elyan grabbed his bag and left without another word. He hadn't returned.

Gwen sighed as she touched the hilt of the sword at her waist. Even though he'd tended to find trouble, she loved her brother. He had a soft way of speaking and a compassionate heart, but those too easily led him astray. He longed to be more than he was. His skill with a sword drew men with flattering tongues who promised him a higher purpose "fighting injustice."

 _If only he could have been a knight_ , Gwen mused. Their father had written Elyan off, but Gwen had felt that if he only had the chance he could have proved himself. He simply needed to be led in the right direction. Sadly, she didn't know where he was and had no means of tracking him down. Before he left he had taught her all he knew about swordsmanship. His experience of the underbelly of the world drove him to make sure she would be a woman capable of protecting herself.

"Are you practicing again?"

Gwen turned to her broad shouldered father. "Yes." She tried to hide her nervousness by clasping her hands together.

"Maybe you should invite Sir Lancelot home this time." Her father smiled in his kind way.

Gwen smiled back. "I know what you're thinking."

"Oh?"

"He doesn't love me."

"It seems to me that when a man chooses to spend this much time with a girl, he means something."

"He loves someone else," Gwen said quietly.

"Who?" her father inquired.

Gwen pushed up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "I promised not to tell." She moved to the door, exiting, her heart pattering in anticipation. Merlin had said her feelings for Arthur were obvious. She wished she were as good at hiding them as Lancelot was.

* * *

Arthur stood behind his dressing screen, a shirt in each hand. He stared indecisively. Red or blue? He'd heard girls liked his blue eyes. Did blue make his blue eyes bluer? Or did red bring them out?

"Arthur?"

"Merlin. You're here."

"I've been waiting outside. You're still getting dressed?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. Count on Merlin to be too efficient at the worst of times. "I'm almost done." He stared at the shirts. _This is ridiculous!_ How had a servant girl turned him into a man who cared what he looked like when he was training? Arthur draped the blue shirt over the screen and pulled the red one on. It was the color of the knights after all.

Arthur did up the ties in the front, then smoothed out his hair. Three months ago when he'd met Princess Myrine he'd looked his best to please his father. He'd been every bit the royal gentlemen, playing a part that had been drummed into him since birth. The princess was pretty, reserved, seemingly virtuous, and yet, Arthur hadn't taken more than a passing concern what he looked like.

What would it be like to be married? Arthur cringed. Married. The word left a bad taste in his mouth. He'd always intended to marry some day, but his time to propose a more companionable spouse had run out.

"Are you done yet?" came Merlin's impatient voice.

Arthur blinked as he woke from his reverie. He stepped around the screen to see his gangly servant sprawled in a chair. "A prince gets to make his own timetable. You don't make it for him."

"But you always tell me to follow your schedule," Merlin protested.

"And this isn't on it," Arthur returned, whisking the blue shirt off the screen and tossing it at Merlin who missed catching it so it draped over half his face. "Make yourself useful."

Merlin stood, ambling over to the wardrobe and hanging the shirt up. "You have your practice sword?"

Arthur picked it up from the table. "I really don't like doing this without armor."

Merlin closed the wardrobe and turned. "She won't hurt you much."

Arthur set disgruntled eyes on the boy who tried to pretend he was innocent. "Merlin."

"What?"

"Your cheekiness is going to get you in trouble some day."

"From you?" Merlin suppressed a smile.

"Yes. I do have the authority to set you in the stocks."

Merlin worried his lip at Arthur's serious expression. "Would you really?"

Arthur raised his chin. "I'm not sure yet." He walked over to Merlin who gazed up with a healthy fear in his eyes. "But don't test me." He lightly swatted the back of Merlin's head. "You know very well I meant Guinevere. I don't want to hurt her."

"I don't think you will."

Arthur eyed him warningly.

Merlin raised his hands in surrender. "I mean that. She's good."

"We'll see," Arthur muttered. "Come on."

* * *

Merlin paced next to Arthur, trying to keep a grin off his face. He didn't think Arthur would actually put him in the stocks, but he just couldn't keep everything he thought in his head, and with Arthur he felt comfortable saying stuff. Merlin sighed. Except magic. The one thing he really wanted to tell Arthur but couldn't.

"There's Lancelot!" Merlin called out, catching sight of the knight ahead of them.

"What is he doing?" Arthur wondered. Lancelot was standing at a bush flowering a pale purple. "Lancelot!"

The knight jumped and turned, a flower in his hand. "Arthur. Merlin."

Arthur pointed at the flower. "What is that for?"

"Eh...An admirer."

"You have an admirer?" Arthur asked, amused.

"Why not?"

"Who is she?"

"I don't know."

"A secret admirer." Arthur grinned down at Merlin who echoed with the grin he'd been forcing back. "So how do you gift her then?"

Lancelot rubbed at the back of his neck. "I leave it outside my door and it disappears."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Is this one of your tales?"

Lancelot looked offended. "Me? Tales? No. This is chivalry. Now, if we can stop talking about my love life, we can proceed to yours."

Arthur scowled at him.

"We all know the girl likes you."

"That's not why I'm here," Arthur growled.

"Then why?"

"Because my servant boy hoodwinked me into coming." He fixed a hard gaze on Merlin whose face fell.

"Good for you, Merlin," Lancelot declared.

Merlin flashed twinkling eyes on the knight, but bowed his head penitently when Arthur looked back at him.

"A pox on you both!" Arthur proclaimed, stomping ahead. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

Arthur sucked in a breath when they reached the clearing used for Gwen's sword practice. The servant girl had arrived ahead of them and stood at the wait. She was dressed as she had been in Ealdor, and Arthur's thoughts flew back to the spirited girl he'd seen fearlessly taking on raiders. She was almost sixteen now, and Arthur could hardly comprehend how such a young girl could be so skilled.

"Guinevere," he greeted.

Gwen bowed her head. "My lord. Welcome." She looked up and he read worry in her gaze. He'd previously wondered if Merlin had conspired with her to get him to show up, but her expression squashed that suspicion thoroughly.

"Don't start without me!" Morgana ran up to the clearing, dressed to practice as well.

 _Of course_ , Arthur grumbled inside. She would never give up an opportunity to see him possibly trounced. "Morgana."

"Hello, Arthur," the ward returned, smiling widely. Arthur rolled his eyes. "Well, where do we want to start?"

Lancelot sat down on a log that had been pulled to the edge of the clearing for those not training. "I say Arthur goes first."

"That's not very fair," Gwen muttered.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

Gwen swallowed. "You've never practiced with us, my lord. Perhaps you would like to see us first so you can offer your advice?"

Arthur, who had been growing more and more uncomfortable, smiled at the servant girl who was clearly trying to get out of what Merlin, and probably Morgana, had dragged her into. _And neither of us can stop it for fear of looking like cowards._ "Lancelot tells me you've taught him much. I'll watch him first."

Lancelot rose from his seat. He tossed an apple he'd pulled off a tree to Merlin who caught it deftly. "Enjoy the show."

Merlin sank down onto the log, biting into the apple with bright eyes. Arthur walked over to the boy, but stood instead of sitting. Morgana joined Merlin, and Arthur didn't miss the mischievous glance that passed between them.

Lancelot bowed to Gwen and Arthur observed keenly as they moved around the clearing, thrusting , parrying, blocking. They fell into an easy rhythm that revealed they knew each other's abilities well. Neither had the upper hand for quite some time. Arthur noted that Gwen held nothing back. She came at Lancelot with a knotted brow heavy in concentration. But he also noticed she favored her right side, putting more weight there most of the time. He could take advantage of that to disrupt her balance.

"Enough!" Morgana cried out after a time. "It's Arthur's turn!"

"You don't want someone to win?" Arthur asked.

Morgana smirked up at him devilishly. "It's not about winning. It's about training."

Lancelot left the clearing, wiping at his brow as he sat down on the Merlin's other side. "Good luck."

Arthur looked to Gwen. "She should recover her breath."

"I'm fine, my lord," Gwen said, running a hand over her own forehead.

"If you're certain."

Gwen nodded. Arthur stepped into the clearing, standing across from her. She seemed so small and fragile. What if he did overbalance her? He didn't want to hurt her. Better to go easy on her. Let her gain some confidence, then strike at her weakness, but do it so she didn't go down too hard.

* * *

Lancelot shared a grin with Morgana and Merlin as Arthur faced off against Gwen. "Bets on who wins?"

"Gwen," Morgana declared.

"And what do you wager?"

"Time."

Lancelot guffawed. "Time?"

"Oh come, Sir Knight. Are you afraid to be at my beck and call for a day?"

Lancelot lifted his eyebrows. "And what if I think Gwen will win as well?"

"Do you?"

"I say Arthur."

"So you bet against a lady." Morgana's eyes sparkled.

"There's no excitement if one of us doesn't take Arthur's side."

"Arthur," Merlin spoke quietly. Lancelot and Morgana looked at him.

Lancelot laughed. "After putting Gwen up to this, you take Arthur?"

Merlin nodded. He'd just wanted to get them together. He didn't care which one won, but he felt obligated to take his master's side.

"You little turncoat," Lancelot teased.

Morgana pointed to the clearing. Arthur had come towards Gwen, slashing out in a traditional stance which she met with ease. Gwen twisted his sword around her own, knocking his hand to her right, then doubled back to thrust at his middle. Arthur was quicker, meeting her blow, then pressing hard so she stepped back. Gwen feinted to her left. Arthur wasn't tricked, his sword clinking firmly against hers. So it went for some time, mostly Gwen attacking, Arthur defending. Suddenly, Gwen stopped, raising her sword in front of her eyes, then lowering it to scowl.

"What is it?" Arthur asked. "You're doing fine."

"I'm doing fine, sire, because you aren't trying," Gwen spat out.

Merlin shared a look with Lancelot who grinned.

"You're just good," Arthur said.

"I _am_ , but how would you know that if you don't actually fight me? You're better than this."

Arthur ground his jaw. "Fine."

Merlin tensed as Arthur let loose, coming at Gwen with more force and vigor. The glade became a whirlwind of energy, Arthur taking the offense now, the girl trying her best to fend off his timely blows. She sidestepped a particularly skillful swing, then slashed at Arthur's legs. He jumped to avoid a hit to his middle, jogged back a little, then came at her again. She caught his blade and pushed forward. He shoved an elbow into her shoulder, knocking her back. Gwen caught herself by leaping against a rock. She sprung off it, using the momentum to fly at Arthur. She slashed at his side, and Arthur faltered for a moment, but ducked and crouched. He came up smiling. "I'd like to meet your brother."

"Why?" Gwen asked as she breathed heavily.

"He must be an excellent swordsman if you're this good."

"He was." Gwen jabbed at him.

"Was?" Arthur attempted his own thrust and Gwen wiggled away.

"He left."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't know him. You'd hate him."

Arthur stared, surprised at the anger in her tone and expression. "How do you know how I'd feel?"

"He broke the law."

Arthur whipped his sword around to her shoulder. She dodged.

"He follows the wrong people."

"I suppose you're right, then," Arthur said. "If even you think he's worthless."

"He's not!" Gwen slashed vehemently several times.

Arthur was taken aback by her ferocity. "Guinevere..."

"Merlin's the only commoner worth your time."

"Wait," Arthur said, standing still. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

"Gwen." Arthur made to step forward to her, but she cried out and swung her sword. Arthur gaped when it made contact, cracking against his thigh. He swallowed a yelp and lashed out, taking advantage of her blow to thrust at her right side a little too far so she stretched to defend and wobbled, going to her knees. He bent over, hand on his thigh. He clenched his teeth and screwed his eyes shut.

"My lord," Gwen said breathlessly. Clapping came from her left. She looked over at Lancelot and Morgana. Merlin met her eyes and didn't look happy at all. "Stop!" Gwen cried out. "You made me hurt him." She stood and fled into the trees.

* * *

As the duel had progressed, Merlin's stomach tangled in knots. He suddenly regretted he'd caused this at all. He had meant only for Arthur to see value in Gwen, but he'd read the tension in their eyes as they spoke to each other. This hadn't gone where he thought it would at all.

Lancelot strode to Arthur's side. Morgana stood up, heading towards the trees, but Arthur grasped her arm. "I'll talk to her."

"Arthur," Morgana stammered. "I didn't mean... I didn't think..."

"You always were too impulsive," Arthur muttered, not unkindly. Arthur caught Merlin wandering towards the trees. "Merlin!" The boy turned and Arthur's heart sank to see him blinking back tears. He walked over to the boy, resting a hand on his head. "This isn't your fault. I said I'd come."

"But..."

"I should have said something to her long before." Arthur tipped his chin up. "Wait here."

Merlin nodded.

* * *

Gwen stopped walking and leaned against a tree, rubbing at her brow. How stupid she'd been! She should never have let them do this to her! Her cheeks were boiling. She'd hurt Arthur. She'd made him look a fool.

"Guinevere?"

Gwen turned to the voice, but didn't look up. "My lord. I'm sorry."

"For what? Being good at swordplay?"

"I hurt you." Her voice was barely a whisper.

Arthur chuckled. "I've been hurt a lot worse than this. It stings. That's all." He stepped closer. "Can you look at me?"

Gwen glanced up, biting her lip.

"I didn't need this to tell me you're good. I knew that in Ealdor."

"It wasn't my idea," Gwen explained.

"I know full well it was Merlin and Morgana, though I'm certain for different reasons."

Gwen folded her arms around her waist and looked down again.

Arthur let out a long breath. "About Merlin..."

"I shouldn't have said that," Gwen mumbled.

"I don't care only about him. I care about all my subjects. But... I can't care about you like you want me to." Arthur felt his heart sink at the words he spoke as much to himself as to her.

Gwen wiped at her eyes. "You must think me a silly girl."

Arthur shook his head. "I think you gracious, brave, strong..." _I think you the kind of woman I'd like to know more._

"But I'm just a servant," Gwen whispered.

Arthur nodded. "Yes."

Gwen pushed off from the tree and curtsied. "My lord." She ran passed him back towards the castle.

Arthur watched her go, feeling that fate had been cruel to set them in such different stations.

* * *

When Arthur returned to the clearing, Morgana and Gwen had disappeared. Lancelot stared at him. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"What did you say to her?"

"What could I say?"

"I suppose nothing helpful," his friend said sympathetically.

"Arthur..." Merlin attempted.

"Come on, Merlin. I need to deal with my sore leg."

"I'm sorry, Arthur."

Arthur looked over at the boy's sad eyes. "I'm not angry at you. You were trying to be nice to her. Besides, I don't think it's me you owe an apology."

"Gwen."

Arthur nodded. "But give her some time."

* * *

Arthur had just released Merlin and laid down to rest when the door to his room flung open.

"So you go and break her heart?"

Arthur sat up to face Morgana. He had understanding for his servant boy whose heart had been in the right place, but not for the ward who had simply meant to show him up. "What else could I do, Morgana? You know I'm pledged to someone else." Few people in the castle had been let in on the betrothal. Most wouldn't know until the announcement in two weeks time.

"You don't love Myrine!"

"It's not about love."

"You're going to be miserable with her."

"I'll...grow to care for her."

"For once, Arthur, stand up to Uther. Tell him you don't love her. That you have nothing in common with her."

"I can't," Arthur said adamantly.

"You can't or you won't?"

"Both."

"You can't tell me you don't feel _something_ for Gwen."

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest as anger tightened it. "Leave me."

"She intrigues you. I've seen the way you look at her."

"She's a _servant_!" Arthur shouted. "If you think father would consider her for one moment... Why do you even care? This is my life, not yours!"

Morgana suddenly gulped and Arthur gawked at the tears brimming in her eyes.

"What is it?" he asked. She hardly ever cried. He could count on one hand how many times he had seen her tear up.

"It's...not right."

Arthur pushed himself off the bed and walked stiffly to her. He grasped her shoulders. "You can tell me anything."

"You wouldn't understand. It's all duty to you."

Arthur cocked his head. "Do you love someone?"

Morgana lowered her eyes.

"A commoner?"

"No," she murmured.

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter." She looked back up at him. "Uther would never approve. My marriage is supposed to be as profitable as yours."

"He can't force you," Arthur said.

"But he can force _you_?" Morgana came back.

"That's different. I'll be king and we need the alliance."

"So you give up love."

Arthur nodded. "For my people." Arthur squeezed her shoulders. "Morgana, I know I've not been the most supportive to you, but I promise I'll have your back in this. I'll talk to him for you."

Morgana shook her head. "I don't want you at odds with him." She brushed a hand over her eyes and looked up at him. "I think sometimes you're a good man, Arthur Pendragon."

"Only sometimes?" Arthur asked.

"You're getting better." She smiled weakly and trudged to the door and out.

Arthur stumbled back to his bed, laying down again and trying to forget that for him love and being king couldn't co-exist.


	22. Premonitions

Merlin loitered in the hall outside Morgana's chamber. He'd searched for Gwen in all her favorite haunts, then decided she must be in her room. She didn't usually stay in it much, only at night. However, when he peeked his head in, she wasn't there. The only place he assumed she could possibly be then was Morgana's chamber, but he hadn't yet worked up the courage to knock. Instead, he wrung his hands and paced back and forth, starting at every sound, afraid Gwen would come around the corner and he'd have to face her.

He wished he'd never gotten the idea to force Arthur to see Gwen. He'd been so certain that Arthur really wanted to get to know her. He smacked the wall in frustration. Stupid rules. Why couldn't Arthur court Gwen? Why couldn't _he_ just use his magic when he wanted? It was all so wrong and complicated and suffocating.

Merlin leaned against the wall across from Morgana's door. He couldn't hang out here forever. Arthur had let him go, but he was certain he'd walk into Gaius' chamber and the physician would hand him a bag of medicines to deliver. He grit his teeth. Arthur would chastise him if he could see how hesitant he was. _Just do it_ , he told himself. He stepped across to the door and knocked.

A few seconds passed and no one answered. _She's not here._ Merlin let out a breath. _Oh, well. I tried._ He began to walk down the hall, but heard Arthur's voice in his head: _Coward... Argh!_ The prince reprimanded him even in his mind! He turned back. Gwen had to be there. She was probably mad and not wanting to see him.

Merlin stomped back to the door, knocking louder. This time he heard a muttering. "Gwen?" He pressed the door handle and peered inside. He couldn't see anyone. He stepped inside, wondering if Gwen was hiding from him. A bowl of water caught his eye on the table, a purple flower like the ones Lancelot had been fiddling with floating on its surface. Morgana must have picked one, too.

Merlin moved deeper into the room, rehearsing his apology in his head. He hoped Gwen would forgive him. He had no friend closer than her here. Maybe Arthur, but the prince wasn't exactly a friend. Hm. Then what was he? He wasn't just a master, either. Merlin was drawn out of his pondering by the muttering which came from the bed. The curtains had been drawn around it. Was Gwen behind them? Was she crying?

Merlin crept across the floor. As he pulled one of the curtains aside, he spoke quietly. "I'm sorry, Gwen, I..." It wasn't Gwen. Instead he beheld Morgana laying on the outside cover, eyes closed. He felt suddenly guilty for intruding on the ward's privacy. He was about to drop the curtain when she murmured.

"Arthur." Her eyelids fluttered rapidly. She must be dreaming. He had to get out of here.

"Arthur!" Morgana jolted up from the bed, eyes wild in fear, breathing rapidly. Merlin had frozen at the look on her face. Her eyes darted every which way, then fixated on him. "Merlin?"

"I...I was just..."

Morgana flung out a hand and grasped his arm. "Arthur. Something's wrong with him. He's...I saw him..."

Merlin laid a hand over her fingers gripping his arm. "It was a dream. A nightmare."

"Nightmare?" Morgana let him go. She buried her face in her palms.

"I should go, my lady."

"No!" Morgana dropped her hands, eyes pleading with him. "Stay with me. Please."

Merlin sat on the edge of the bed. Morgana lay back against her pillow. "I saw Arthur die. At the tournament."

Merlin smiled. "Arthur's not going to die. He always wins."

Morgana nodded slowly. "You're right, but... He didn't die fighting in the tournament. He...attacked someone. Yes, that was it. He attacked and they fought and... A knife stabbed him. He fell over still."

"It's okay. It didn't happen."

Morgana locked eyes with him. "No. It didn't. A dream. That's it." She sighed. "Thank you, Merlin."

"For what?"

"Being here."

Merlin beamed. "Sure."

Morgana's brow furrowed. "Why _are_ you here?"

"Eh...to apologize to Gwen."

"About fighting Arthur."

Merlin nodded.

"I suppose we both were a little over eager about the whole thing." Morgana reached out for his arm again. "You meant well. I foolishly thought it would stop this whole ridiculous betrothal."

Merlin cocked his head. "What?"

"Oh." Morgana put a hand to her mouth. "I forgot. I didn't mean to say anything."

"Arthur's going to get married?" Merlin's voice was hushed.

"Not right away. It'll just be announced at the tournament. You won't tell anyone will you?"

Merlin shook his head absentmindedly as his stomach filled with lead.

"Gwen isn't here. I let her off the rest of the day. She might be at home."

"I should get to Gaius," Merlin muttered.

"Of course. Thank you again, Merlin. My dreams. They're so real sometimes and scare me." She yawned. "I wish Gaius could find something that would help me sleep without them." She looked up at Merlin and reading his troubled expression added, "But I'm alright."

"Yes, my lady." Merlin bowed and made a beeline for the exit.

* * *

"Arthur's getting married!" Merlin cried out once he reached the safety of Gaius' chambers.

The physician looked up from his worktable. "Right now?"

"No, but..."

"Then you have time to deliver these to the lower town." Gaius picked up a bag and slung it over Merlin's head.

"But, Gaius, he _is_. Arthur's going to get married."

"And why is that surprising?"

"No one told me!" Merlin looked hurt, and Gaius couldn't help but chuckle.

"Merlin, they don't consult servants like _you_ on this issue."

"Did you know?"

"No, but it makes sense. When King Alined visited along with his daughter, I thought something like this might be the reason. Uther and Alined have rarely seen eye to eye, but they are both powerful and an alliance between them involving their children would bring stability and strength to our region. That they both see the need to temper their hostility is a good thing."

Merlin scowled. "It's like Arthur's just...just...being used."

"Arthur will submit to his father and make an alliance that is prosperous for his kingdom, as he should."

"But..."

Gaius grasped Merlin's shoulders and turned him around, giving him a shove in the back. "This is how it's supposed to be for Arthur. If you want to stew over Arthur's future, do so while you make the deliveries."

Merlin trudged to the door, but before he exited turned back. "Can you help Morgana?"

"Is she getting married, too?" Gaius asked with a smirk.

Merlin frowned at Gaius. "No, but she had a nightmare. She said you've tried to help her. Can you?"

Gaius looked alarmed for a split second, then forced a mask of calm. Merlin didn't miss the change. "Do you know what she dreamed?"

"Something about Arthur and the tournament. And _she_ doesn't like Arthur marrying either." Merlin said the last like it was an incontrovertible defense of his feelings.

Gaius ignored his last statement. "What happened at the tournament?"

"I don't know... She said he died."

Gaius glanced down at the worktable. "I'll make her another draft."

The door opened and closed, leaving Gaius to worry over the prince, but for a very different reason.

* * *

Merlin handed out medicine bottles without his typical joy. More than one of the people he serviced were repeat patients, and several questioned his lack of energy. He just put it off to being tired, but Arthur occupied his thoughts.

Why hadn't Arthur told him? Especially when the whole coming to practice thing happened? Arthur married. To who? What was she like? This would change everything.

Merlin stopped in front of Gwen's house after the last of his deliveries. On top of everything, he hadn't apologized yet, and his intentions for the practice seemed even more naive in light of what he now knew. He knocked on the door. It opened to reveal Gwen's father, Tom.

"Merlin. Welcome." The blacksmith opened the door wide, and Merlin stepped through. Gwen sat at the table with a bowl of soup for her mid-day meal.

"Hi," Merlin mumbled.

Gwen nodded at him and spooned some soup into her mouth. Tom glanced between them, and then said he had some work to finish in the forge and left.

Merlin shuffled to the table and sat down across from Gwen. He bit his lip. "I'm sorry, Gwen. What happened was my fault."

Gwen laid her spoon in her bowl and looked up at him. "How is Arthur?"

 _He's getting married!_ Merlin shouted inside, but he couldn't tell her. Not only had Morgana told him not to tell anyone—and he'd already gone and told Gaius, but Gaius had kind of figured it out on his own, so that was okay, right?—it would hurt Gwen a lot. "He's okay. You didn't really hurt him."

"I shouldn't have let you goad me into it," Gwen said, shifting several bowls on the table, seemingly wanting to keep her hands occupied.

"Yeah." There was silence for a moment, then Merlin attempted to repair their relationship. "You did well, though. That's good."

Gwen shook her head sadly. "I've been a foolish girl. I knew Arthur couldn't care about me, but I just kept thinking about him." She lifted her chin and straightened her back. "I don't care about Arthur. I can't. So I won't." She returned to her soup.

Merlin watched her with downcast eyes. He heard the words, but didn't believe them for a moment.

* * *

Arthur glanced up from his desk where he read his morning reports. Merlin had arrived as usual carrying a basket of freshly laundered clothing. He set to work hanging and folding them, but had been silent except for a quick greeting. Arthur tapped at his lips. Something had to be troubling the boy.

"Merlin?"

"Yeah?"

"Come over here."

Merlin moved away from the wardrobe and up to the desk. "What do you need?"

"You do know I'm not upset about yesterday?"

Merlin looked down, fingering the dragon figurine on the desk. "Yeah."

"I'm _not_."

Merlin looked up. "I know."

Arthur tilted his head. "Then what has you grumping around here like a bear out of mating season?"

"Nothing."

Arthur guffawed. "Right. Because my servant boy is known for his solitary thinking and closed mouth. Out with it. What's wrong?"

Merlin shook his head. "Nothing, Arthur."

Arthur pursed his lips. "Then you force me. I order you to tell me."

"Can you do that?"

"I'm a prince. I can do anything I like."

"Anything?"

"Within my father's good graces, I suppose." Though ever since Merlin had shown up he'd found himself circumventing those now and then.

"What about...getting married?"

Arthur dropped his hand to the desk, drumming it. "I can get married."

"But the king decides who you marry?"

"Not exactly," Arthur said, rubbing at a smudge mark on one of the reports. "I have a say."

"If you get married, what will happen to me?"

Arthur looked up at the anxiety in the boy's tone and grinned in relief. "Nothing will happen to you. You'll continue to serve me as always."

Merlin relaxed a little. "But Gwen..."

Arthur's gaze turned stern. "I understand why you did what you did. The girl's feelings matter to you, but I could never care about her that way."

"What's she like?"

"You know Gwen."

"I mean..." Merlin swallowed. "The woman you're going to marry. Is she like Gwen?"

Arthur's heart had begun pounding. "How do you know I'm getting married?"

Merlin twisted his lips. "I...heard."

Arthur slammed a hand onto his desk. "That was supposed to be confidential. If I find the person who started this rumor..." He scowled and leaned back in his chair.

"But it's not a rumor, is it?" Merlin asked.

"No, it's true. My betrothal will be announced in two weeks time."

Merlin shifted on his feet. "Do you love her?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "I know you're getting older, Merlin, and I'm sure beginning to feel the stirrings of attraction, but I never thought you one to be such a girl about romance."

"But do you?"

Arthur sat up and straightened the papers on his desk. "It's not about love. It's about what is best for my people."

"You don't."

"Merlin! It doesn't matter."

Merlin looked dejected and Arthur worried his servant's demeanor would undermine his resolve.

"As for what she's like, you'll know soon enough. I've promised my personal servant would be at her disposal while she's here."

 _Great_ , Merlin thought, already determining he was certain he wouldn't like her.

* * *

Two weeks later, Merlin stood on the steps of the castle, watching an entourage approach. Arthur had made him wear his formal serving clothes. Arthur himself looked regal and flawless as he stood with his back straight, his golden diadem glinting in the sunlight. Lancelot stood with a contingent of knights. He caught Merlin's eye and winked. Merlin managed a small smile.

King Alined halted on his horse in front of the steps. "King Uther."

Uther nodded back. "We welcome you once more to Camelot."

Merlin assessed King Alined. His face was lined with wrinkles, though he didn't appear very old, just hardened. His eyes burned with a fierce light, even if his voice was even. He seemed a person you shouldn't tangle with.

The king held out his hand and a girl rode up behind him. She was older than Gwen. Merlin thought she was perhaps a little pretty. She had nice green eyes. Her blue riding cloak complimented them. She smiled at Arthur.

"Princess Myrine." Arthur bowed.

Merlin heard a sharp intake of breath. He glanced at Morgana next to Arthur's side. She pushed a hand into her chest.

Alined dismounted, then helped his daughter from her own horse. They ascended the steps. Alined shared a wrist grip with Uther.

"Your stay with us will be one of glorious celebration," Uther promised.

"I have no doubt," Alined replied. "My knights come ready to meet the challenge."

Uther gestured to the door. They turned to move back inside. Arthur offered his arm to the princess, who took it gingerly. She didn't even glance at Merlin as she passed, but he hardly noticed. His eyes were on Morgana who had moved to the side of the steps, supporting herself against the stone bannister.

"My lady?"' Merlin asked.

"Something's wrong."

"Morgana?" Lancelot had broken away from the knights.

Morgana gripped Lancelot's hand, and turned eyes intent with fear on him. "Arthur's in danger."

Lancelot stared in concern. "You've been dreaming again."

"It's more than that. I feel it."

Merlin worried his lip. Lancelot glanced at him a moment, then began to aid Morgana up the stairs. "I'll take you to Gaius."

"No!" Morgana practically shouted. "What can he do? Nothing helps. They're always here—the dreams, the feelings. Like it's all real."

"Morgana." Lancelot dropped her hand and cupped her cheeks. "Let me help you to Gaius."

Merlin felt unnerved. Morgana was usually so confident and strong. Her nightmares had turned her into a scared child. She crumbled, slumping into the knight's hold.

"Yes. Alright."

When they reached the doors, Merlin watched Lancelot guide Morgana towards Gaius' chambers, her fears ringing in his ears.

"Merlin!"

Merlin hurried down the opposite hall. It was okay. Arthur was fine. He was yelling for him after all. But unabated suspicion had taken root in the pit of his stomach.


	23. Second Sight

"This is my personal servant, Merlin. He will be at your disposal while you are here." Arthur gestured to Merlin as he addressed King Alined and his daughter. "A maid will also be provided. If you need anything, you may tell Merlin and he will inform me."

"You are very kind, my lord," Princess Myrine answered, smiling. Arthur nodded to her.

"Merlin," Arthur spoke to his servant. "See that out guests' belongings are brought along with care."

Arthur noted in annoyance that Merlin left with a glance screaming pity shot his direction.

"As soon as you're rested, we'll dine together."

"And perhaps a stroll afterward?" Myrine asked.

"If weather permits. I shall leave you to settle then." Arthur bowed and exited. He pulled off his gloves as he walked away and stopped when he reached a window overlooking the courtyard. He peered downwards. Merlin and a few other servants were struggling under the heavy chests the king and princess had carted with them. He twisted the gloves in his hands. Myrine was pretty, no doubt, and a perfect princess. And goodness knows he was trying to love her, but every time he looked at her he felt nothing.

As he watched Merlin reach the steps, the boy's question taunted him: _Do you love her?_ "No," Arthur whispered. He'd told Morgana he'd come to love her, but what if he didn't? Was this to be his fate, to live unloved? He knew his father and mother loved each other. His father told stories of his love for his mother before they ever married. Why was he not afforded the same opportunity?

A girl wormed her way into his mind then, one with an attractive balance of spirit and compassion, of fire and tenderness. A girl of dark hair and eyes who had hidden abilities no one would suspect. His mind wandered, imaging what it might be like to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her. Arthur shook his head. This wouldn't help anything.

He pulled away from the window and paced down the hall, trying desperately to replace his imaginings with Myrine and failing utterly.

* * *

When Merlin returned to the guest chambers, Arthur had departed. He completed his duty, then asked if he was needed for anything else. The king and princess declined. He promised to return in an hour to see if they had settled. He left, sighing and leaning against the closed doors. The king and princess acted exactly like a king and princess, which meant he was a lowly servant, worth nothing but curt replies.

Merlin ambled down the hall. What had he expected? They acted like nobility was supposed to act, and what was wrong with that? Merlin headed towards the kitchens, his stomach hankering for a snack. He yelped when he passed a side hall and someone yanked his arm, dragging him into it. He stared up at Lancelot, whose gaze was fierce.

"I need you," the knight said, pulling him down the hall.

"What?"

"Wait."

When they reached a storage room, Lancelot opened the door and shoved him in, then shut it and turned. "How much do you know about curses?"

Merlin stared blankly. "Er..."

"Come on."

"Not much." Gaius had just started teaching him about magic, and he certainly hadn't been teaching him dark magic.

"Can you heal?"

Merlin looked uncomfortable. "I'm not very good."

Lancelot huffed out a frustrated breath and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Why?"

"Morgana."

Merlin caught on. "Her dreams."

"I think it's a curse. It has to be. Gaius keeps giving her medications and nothing works. She's tormented constantly." He fixed Merlin with an intent gaze. "And I'm not a sorcerer. I can't fix this."

Merlin thought of the stressed fear in Morgana's eyes that had so unsettled him. He wished he could help her. "Maybe..." Merlin started, an idea coming to him. "I can try to find something."

"How?"

"Can you read ancient languages?"

Lancelot raised his chin for a moment, and tightened his folded arms. "Several. Why?"

"I'll need help."

* * *

Arthur wriggled out of his shirt and pants, undressing for the night. He'd eaten dinner with his father, King Alined, and Princess Myrine. Morgana had been absent, sending word she didn't feel well. He wondered if she had really skipped out to punish him. If she had, it worked. It had been the most boring meal he'd ever eaten without her intellect and wit to relieve it.

Arthur had kept his word, taking an evening stroll in the gardens with Myrine. Merlin had tagged along behind, ostensibly to be at their beck and call, but Arthur had also decided he didn't want to be alone with the princess. Although they talked, their conversation led to nothing but inane chatter. At first he considered Myrine was being purposefully obtuse about things, but became convinced over the walk this was her true character. She was a pretty face and nothing else.

Arthur crumpled his shirt in his hands as he thought about his return to his chambers. He had just happened to pass Gwen in the hallway. Their eyes had met, and she had nodded and stated a dispassionate, "My lord," leaving him to stare after her retreating form.

Arthur tossed his shirt and pants over the dressing screen, knowing Merlin would throw them in the laundry basket. He cleared his throat and tried to speak nonchalantly. "So, Merlin, what do you think of our guests?"

Merlin didn't reply. Arthur peeked out from behind the screen to see his servant boy staring blankly. "Merlin... Merlin!"

Merlin roused. "Oh. Er, Arthur. What?"

"Something on your mind?"

"Nothing," Merlin said a little too quickly.

"What then?"

"Nothing. Really."

"Well, since you're thinking nothing, do _something_ and pick up the laundry." As Merlin moved to retrieve his shirt and pants, Arthur pulled back behind the screen and asked again. "What do you think of our guests?"

"They're royalty."

"And?"

"And rich."

"Merlin, stop being deliberately evasive."

Arthur heard Merlin mumbling under his breath. He left the screen, now clothed in his nightclothes. "What are you going on about?"

Merlin looked over with the laundry basket in his arms. "Nothing."

"Nothing. Nothing," Arthur grumbled. "It's not nothing."

Merlin worried his lip.

"When you do that, you don't want to tell me something."

Merlin stopped.

"What is it?"

"It doesn't matter."

"I wouldn't ask you if I didn't want to know," Arthur insisted.

"If I tell you what I think, you'll just tell me I'm wrong!" Merlin stomped away with the basket.

Arthur ran after him, grabbing his arm. "What has you in such a mood?"

Merlin glared at him. He couldn't say he was worried over how to help Morgana with a healing spell, and he certainly couldn't say what he really thought of Princess Myrine. "Noth..."

Arthur shook his servant. "I want to know what you think of the princess now that you've met her."

"She's not Gwen," Merlin muttered.

Arthur dropped his arm. "No, she isn't."

Merlin scowled. "You don't love her. She's nothing like you."

"It doesn't change my duty."

"See? I told you! Now I'm wrong."

"Merlin... I just..."

"I'd never want to be a prince. It's stupid to marry someone you don't love."

"But it..."

"Makes the kingdom stronger. Making you unhappy makes the kingdom stronger?"

Arthur stared at Merlin for a few seconds. "You may go."

Merlin felt sudden guilt. "Arthur, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

"I asked."

"Well, yeah, but..."

Arthur turned away. "Good-night, Merlin."

* * *

By the time Merlin reached Gaius' chambers, he was entirely grumpy. He'd already had a long day running errands for the king and princess, he'd gotten into a tiff with Arthur, and now he had to look forward to a night of trying to figure out how to do something he didn't think he could do. He washed up, and then slumped down at the table to the meal Gaius had prepared.

Merlin's eyes flicked up at Gaius several times as he worked to calm himself. He'd planned on trying to wheedle information out of the physician.

"So," Gaius said. "You met the princess."

"Yeah," Merlin grumbled.

Gaius raised his right eyebrow. "You didn't like her, then."

"She's a princess."

"I think you may have prejudged her."

"I was right."

"Merlin..."

"She's not a match for Arthur!"

Gaius now raised both his eyebrows at his vehemence.

"Sorry," Merlin mumbled. As they both turned back to their meals, Merlin tried to think about Morgana and not the princess. He took a long breath. "Erm, curses."

Gaius looked up. "Hm?"

"I just was wondering, you know, curses. Are there any in the grimoire?"

Gaius fixed him with a hard gaze. "Don't you dare think of cursing her."

"What?" Merlin exclaimed. "Oh. No. Gaius! I wouldn't do that."

"Then why are you asking about curses?"

"I just wondered. I mean, there are so many spells in it. Are they all good?"

"Most," Gaius said. "Though Nimueh's poison spell is there."

"Oh. Right." Merlin sipped at his soup. "I just wondered how you know if someone is cursed?"

Gaius looked thoughtful. "It's not always clear. Back in the old days, the best way to tell was if nothing else cured the patient."

 _Like Morgana._ "Have you ever had a cursed patient?"

"Since the Purge?"

Merlin nodded.

"I don't think so."

Merlin spoke hesitantly. "What about...Morgana?"

Gaius looked sideways at him. "Morgana?"

"She has those dreams all the time, and nothing you do helps."

"She's not cursed." Gaius had locked a hard stare on him.

"But..."

"I would know if she was. She is not."

Merlin nodded and lowered his head, eating his soup, but he knew Gaius well enough now. Gaius was hiding the truth. Merlin came to a conclusion that made him even more grumpy: _He doesn't want me using magic, so he'll just let her suffer!_ Well, he'd take care of that tonight.

* * *

Merlin tiptoed down several hallways, avoiding nighttime patrols. He'd easily procured the grimoire while Gaius slept. When he reached the knights' quarters, he knocked softly at Lancelot's door. The door opened and the knight pulled him in, then shut it. He sat down on Lancelot's bed and opened the large tome.

"I've read most of this, but some are so old, I can't read them."

Lancelot sat down next to him, staring at the book. "What is this?"

"Spells."

"How did you get it?"

Merlin shifted nervously.

Lancelot understood. "I won't ask."

Together, Merlin and the knight flipped through the pages. Merlin fought his guilt. Gaius would have had his head if he knew he was showing the book to someone else. Lancelot translated several of the spells Merlin couldn't read, but none held the answer they sought. They had almost reached the end of the book when Lancelot pointed.

"Here. This one," he said. He read the introduction. "To relieve one whose sleep is disturbed from the terrors of the night, perform the following spell during the ailment."

Merlin stared at the picture on the page. A dark monster hovered over a person, reaching its hands into his mind.

Lancelot ran a finger under the words of the spell. "It's quite old, this language. Give me a moment." Merlin fought off sleep as he waited. "Alright. I think I have it." He spoke it several times and Merlin copied him until he had it down.

"How do you know so much?" Merlin asked idly.

Lancelot's voice was quiet. "My father required it."

Merlin knit his brow at Lancelot's tone of resentment. "You didn't like to study?"

"It wasn't the study," Lancelot murmured.

Merlin looked confused.

Lancelot smiled. "You're blessed with a mother that loves you. My mother let our father do whatever he wanted, and he wanted his children to be perfect. If we weren't, he found ways to make us wish we were."

Merlin's eyes widened. "He hurt you?"

"It was long ago," Lancelot said, standing and picking up a leaf from a side table. He stuck it in the book and closed it, hefting it into his arms. "And it doesn't matter anymore. Let's get to Morgana."

* * *

Lancelot stared in awe when Merlin stood in front of Morgana's door, whispered " _Tospringe_ ," and the door unlocked. "Nowhere is safe from you," he muttered.

Merlin couldn't tell if he was teasing or expressing reverent fear. He didn't have time to ask as the knight moved quickly into the room. He followed all the way to Morgana's bed. Lancelot drew back a curtain and peered down on the sleeping ward.

"She has to be dreaming," Merlin reminded.

Lancelot nodded. Time ticked by. Merlin sat on the floor. His eyelids grew heavy and his head bobbed. Lancelot nudged him with a toe every time his head drooped. Merlin tried to shake himself awake. Eventually he felt a hand pull him up.

"Now," Lancelot said. "Do it."

Merlin lit up his hand and saw that Morgana's mouth was moving and her eyelids fluttering. Lancelot held open the book. Merlin read the spell once more before attempting it. He leaned over Morgana, whispering words he didn't understand but doing his best to infuse all the conviction he could into them. Morgana moaned and Merlin gasped. He wasn't in the room anymore.

Merlin turned around in a circle. Night had become day. He was standing in the tournament arena and facing the royal box where the king and Morgana usually sat. They weren't alone this time. King Alined and Princess Myrine had joined them.

Merlin startled when a man dashed past him. It was Arthur. Merlin tried to run after him, but found he was frozen in place. He watched as the prince reached the box, leaping up into it. He swung his sword at King Alined. Everyone in the box began to scream and shout. Uther was trying to stop his son. Alined pushed the prince backwards, and he fell out of the box. Alined jumped down, drawing a knife. Uther made to come after, but he was too late. Alined plunged his knife deep into Arthur's chest.

"Arthur!"

Merlin shot back to the dark room at Morgana's shout, his knees buckling. Lancelot caught him, dragging him backwards and laying him on the floor.

"Merlin," the knight whispered harshly. Merlin stared, dazed. His light had gone out and the moonlight through the window cast the room into eerie shadow.

"Arthur," came Morgana's voice again. "Arthur." Merlin heard her gasp and a rustle of sheets. Lancelot moved away from him.

"Morgana." The knight's voice was tender and reassuring.

"Lancelot. What are you doing here?"

"I was worried about you."

"If Uther found you here..."

"He won't."

Merlin lifted his head to behold the knight sitting on the bed. He couldn't see Morgana. The knight was shielding him from her sight.

"You were dreaming again."

"Yes. It was the same. Arthur dying." Her arms wrapped around Lancelot's neck. "I'm so scared."

"I'm here. You're safe."

"You can't stay."

"Until you sleep."

"Just until."

"I promise."

Lancelot shifted as Morgana lay down. He glanced at Merlin who laid back on the floor, now even more confused. After a time, Lancelot came to his side. Merlin let himself be helped up. He noted the curtain had been drawn back across the bed. As they passed the table, Merlin observed a flower in a bowl. It was different than the purple one he'd seen weeks earlier, but all of a sudden the purple one held new significance.

Lancelot leaned Merlin against the wall outside Morgana's door, holding onto is shoulders to keep him upright. Merlin looked up at him. "Morgana's your secret admirer."

"It's not secret to us," Lancelot confessed. "I wasn't exactly truthful about that. You can't tell anyone."

"I won't."

"Merlin, what happened?"

"I don't think I helped her."

"What then?"

"I think...I saw her dream." The scene replayed in Merlin's mind. He swallowed and stared at Lancelot. "Arthur tried to kill King Alined."

Lancelot narrowed his eyes.

"And Alined killed him."

Lancelot let him go. Merlin managed to stay standing. The knight paced up and down, running his hands through his hair. He stopped and looked to Merlin. "She told me she dreamed about you."

"Me?"

"When we were looking for the sorceress. She saw you attacked by some men at a river."

Merlin felt his hands begin to sweat.

"And then she saw you being almost choked to death by a woman."

Merlin swallowed hard.

"I thought the first a coincidence, just her worry in dream. Did Nimueh try to strangle you?"

Merlin nodded slowly.

Lancelot shook his head. "She's not having nightmares."

"She's seeing the future," Merlin finished.


	24. A Cursed Gift

The door to Gaius' chambers creaked open and a head peeked in. Merlin blanched. Gaius frowned at him from his seat at the dining table, arms crossed over his chest. "And where have you been in the middle of the night?"

"I...er...erm..."

"And with that?" Gaius pointed at the portion of the grimoire he could see.

Merlin stepped inside. "I...needed to..."

Gaius interrupted angrily. "I want to trust you, Merlin, but when you sneak off with my spell book, I can only think you're up to no good."

Anger flashed on Merlin's face as he marched to the table and flung the grimoire on it. "But you won't tell me anything! I couldn't tell you!"

Gaius stared. "Where have you been?"

"Trying to help Morgana."

"Morgana?" Gaius' eyes became harder still. "What did you do?"

"I tried a healing spell."

"I told you to leave her alone."

"No, you told me she wasn't cursed, but she is! Or something like that. She can see the future!"

"Did you tell her this?" Gaius snapped.

"No, but..."

"Sit down."

"She should know."

"Sit. Down."

Merlin stiffly sat down, his body taut with rage and frustration.

"Morgana isn't cursed," Gaius repeated. "At least, no one has cursed her. I suppose it might seem like a curse."

"Then what's happened to her? Why won't you tell me?"

Gaius locked eyes with him. "I'm trying to protect her, Merlin. The fewer who know about her troubles the better."

"Tell me. Please."

Gaius considered the boy pleading for the truth. Gaius knew Merlin's heart was to aid Morgana, not hurt her. His wrath began to cool. "First, tell me what you did."

Merlin hesitated for a moment, but Gaius' characteristic right eyebrow raise prompted him. "I thought I could take away her nightmares. I used a spell to heal her."

"It didn't work."

Merlin shook his head helplessly. "Instead, I...saw her dream."

Gaius now lifted both his eyebrows in surprise. "You saw it?"

"Arthur attacked King Alined and the king killed him."

Gaius clenched the arms folded over his chest. He'd been worried about this dream ever since Merlin had revealed it. He chastised himself. He should have told Merlin then what was going on. He should have known the prophecy would force itself, giving Merlin the opportunity to do what he was supposed to do—protect Arthur. But Gaius couldn't help continuing to think Merlin too young for such burdens.

"What I am about to tell you cannot become known to anyone else," Gaius warned.

Merlin nodded solemnly.

"Morgana's mother grew up with the high priestesses of the old religion until the age of thirteen."

"Old religion?"

"The religion of magic, or one of them. There were several in those days, following various philosophies of magic. The high priestesses were loyal to the oldest of these, a religion focused on the complete freedom of magic power. They sought to gain ultimate knowledge, and I am sorry to say that this led to much evil in the end."

"Evil?"

"Their goal was not evil itself, but even though they tried to choose only acolytes that were pure of heart, many found the depth of their knowledge and power too tempting. This is why Uther eliminated them during the Purge."

Merlin wrung his hands. "Morgana's mother was evil?"

Gaius smiled softly. "No. Morgana's mother was a wise child. She chose to leave the priestesses. Even then she sensed the possibilities of unchecked magic within herself. She feared her corruption, so she distanced herself."

"She had magic."

Gaius nodded. "She was quite learned in magic's ways, but her gift was seeing."

Merlin rustled in his seat and leaned forward in interest. "Seeing? The future?"

"Prophetic visions," Gaius used the formal term. "This gift cannot be gained by teaching. It can be honed, but one must be born with it."

Merlin blinked, his blue eyes alighting with eagerness. "Morgana was born with magic? Like me?"

Gaius tilted his head, wanting to temper the boy's excitement. "It's not magic as such."

Merlin's face fell.

"Usually seers are limited in their ability for other types of magic. They can, indeed, learn like anyone, but the power of sight is dominant."

"So, Morgana can only have visions?"

"Yes," Gaius confirmed.

"Why haven't you told her?" Merlin asked. "She's so scared."

Gaius reached across the table to grip Merlin's wrist. "Because Uther killed the high priestesses and all the seers."

"He killed her mother," Merlin breathed out.

Gaius shook his head. "She died shortly before the Purge. But to Uther, a seer is synonymous with the high priestesses of the old religion."

Merlin looked horrified. "You think Uther would kill Morgana?"

Gaius firmed his lips. "I don't know what he would do, and I am afraid to find out."

Merlin rubbed at his neck. "But...what can we do for her?"

"I've done all I can. The only thing I can do is try to convince her she only dreams."

"But if Arthur dies..." Merlin stalled, hearing the import of his own words. "Arthur. He _is_ going to die!"

Gaius raised a hand. "Calm yourself, Merlin. Although the visions of seers should not be disregarded, they are not set in stone. They are only one possible future, usually the one currently in motion."

"So, what can I do?"

"Something can change her vision, though what that is is rarely clear. This is another reason I have not told Morgana. Seers were raised by the high priestesses from the time they were children because the gift is difficult. It can drive a person mad. You see what will happen, and then try to either stop it or make it come to pass without knowing the full effect of your own actions. In this way, seeing can be a curse. It is better not to see at all." Gaius sighed. He had no wish to foist the pain of seeing on the king's ward. He had been privy to the suffering wrought on those who bore such a gift.

"But I know," Merlin whispered.

"Yes, and I'm sorry."

"Sorry? But I can stop Arthur!"

"But what do you do? How do you _know_ what to do?"

Merlin bit his lip for a moment. Gaius tightened his jaw, afraid he had said too much. He wished the boy had never known.

Merlin jumped up from the table, rushing to the door.

"Merlin!"

"I know who to ask."

* * *

Merlin clattered down the tunnel to the large cavern. "Kilgharrah!"

The dragon was already awaiting him, spewing fire upwards out of its mouth in various patterns. It swiveled its head. "Young warlock."

"I have a question about visions."

"Visions. What ill things."

Merlin raised his chin. Apparently the dragon had the same feelings as Gaius on the issue.

"Have you had a vision?" The dragon sounded surprised.

"Not me. Morgana."

"Morgana." The dragon readjusted, turning its whole body to face him. "So she has the gift of her mother."

"You know about her?"

"I knew all the high priestesses and their followers. Does Morgana know of her gift?"

Merlin shook his head.

"This is fortunate."

"But she's scared."

"Better to be frightened than mad."

"Gaius told me all about this."

"Then leave this alone, young warlock."

Merlin shook his head. "I can't."

"Merlin."

"She saw Arthur die!"

The dragon blinked its big yellow eyes. "This complicates matters."

"I need to stop it. Can you tell me how?"

"I may be powerful, but the future is too fluid even for me."

"But you told me about the prophecy of me and Arthur."

"You and Arthur are unique. When you found him, you awakened the prophetic bond between yourself and Arthur, though even now you could choose to break it."

Merlin stared. "Is that why you told me to find him?"

Kilgharrah nodded his large head. "Part of my role in this world is to encourage yours. Because of you, Arthur has begun to change and the uniting of Albion may yet lead to the good of all."

"Yet?"

Kilgharrah smiled. "Albion's unification is deeply woven into the fabric of the world, but whether it brings good or ill is not yet assured. The choices Arthur makes hold as much weight as yours."

Merlin spoke quietly, taking in all the dragon was telling him. "So I can save him?"

"Perhaps."

Merlin stared. That wasn't very reassuring. "How?"

"Do what you think you should. That is the best advice I can give to you."

* * *

Merlin spent the night tossing and turning in his sleep. Morgana's dream became his own as he worried over what he'd seen. Why would Arthur ever attack King Alined? It didn't make sense. He rose with the sun, tired and no where near an answer.

Merlin attended the king and princess first, delivering their breakfasts. He received the same cold attention, nothing but a fixture of the castle in their eyes. He tried to ferret out anything wrong with King Alined, but the conversation between him and his daughter was boringly mundane. He didn't see what would make Arthur angry enough to attack the king.

He finally departed and hurriedly made his way to Arthur's chambers. Arthur was already up.

"Ah, Merlin. Have you seen to Alined and Myrine?"

Merlin strode up to his desk. "I just came from them."

"And how are they?"

"Fine. Look, Arthur..."

Arthur stopped him, holding up a hand. "I want to apologize."

Merlin cocked his head.

"I asked your opinion yesterday, and you gave an honest answer. What you say does matter to me."

"Oh." In all the commotion over Morgana, Merlin had completely forgotten his spat with Arthur.

"There is some wisdom in what you said," Arthur admitted. "A content king can rule more effectively."

Merlin's heart pounded. Did this mean he was going to call off the betrothal and the tournament?

"And although I wish I did love Princess Myrine, I must be content with her. I'll endeavor to be a good husband and forgo imagined interests."

Merlin's heart sank. "But Gwen..."

"And that means I cannot spend time thinking of Guinevere. And you, Merlin, must heed your own wisdom and content yourself with Princess Myrine. She's a good woman, and she deserves your kindness."

Merlin worried his lip.

"I'm sorry, but this is the truth of the matter." Arthur looked on him with sympathy. He stood, ruffling the boy's hair to comfort him. "It won't be so bad for either of us." Arthur moved to the door. "The tournament starts in two hours time. Have you polished my armor?"

"Er..." Merlin rubbed his temple.

"I suppose that means you haven't."

"I forgot."

Arthur opened the door. "Then get to it."

Merlin paused when he reached the door. "Arthur?"

"Yes?"

Merlin wrung his hands. "Maybe, maybe you shouldn't go to the tournament."

Arthur laughed. "Stop joking, Merlin."

"What woman really likes to go to tournaments?" Merlin said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. "Maybe take the princess on a picnic."

Arthur grasped his arm and propelled him out the door. "If you think woman don't like tournaments, you don't understand them yet. Polish my armor."

The door shut. Merlin stared at it. He was beginning to understand how knowledge of the future could make someone mad.

* * *

When Merlin reached the armory he found several other knights and their squires present, including Lancelot. The knight sent a furtive look his direction and nodded to the door. Merlin backtracked. The knight exited and pulled him farther down the hall.

"Did you find anything else?" Lancelot asked. Merlin had left him the night before with a promise to dig further into the issue.

"Well, we shouldn't tell her."

Lancelot nodded. "I already determined that. It would make her more fearful."

"But Arthur _is_ in danger. I told him not to go to the tournament, but..."

Lancelot laughed grimly. "I could have told you that was pointless."

"I don't know what to do." Merlin felt tears brimming in his eyes.

Lancelot put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll stick as close to Arthur as I can. You're attending him. We'll watch over him." He paused for a moment. "Do you know why she dreams like this?"

Merlin sighed. "I can't tell you." He'd betrayed Gaius' trust enough.

Lancelot stared at him. "I wish you could be more open with me, Merlin."

"I...have to protect someone."

Lancelot glanced up and down the hall. "You, Morgana, and someone else?"

"They're good. I promise."

Lancelot smiled slightly. "If Uther knew."

"That's why Morgana _can't_ know."

Lancelot nodded slowly. "It would cause a great rift between them...and maybe more. Promise me one thing?"

"What?"

"You'll tell me when you can. I don't like being in the dark."

"I will."

* * *

It was a miserable, on edge Merlin who entered Arthur's tent on the field prepared for the tournament participants an hour later. He set out Arthur's clothes and armor. He had one consolation. He'd thought through the vision multiple times. Arthur hadn't been in his armor when he attacked Alined. Merlin at least knew when to keep his eye on Arthur—during breaks between his matches.

The tent flap drew back, and Merlin looked up expecting Arthur. Instead, Princess Myrine entered.

Merlin bowed to her. "Do you need something, my lady?"

"No." She moved over to the armor. "He'll wear this?"

"Yes."

She looked down at her hands. She held an elaborately embroidered piece of gray cloth, silver and gold crisscrossing it in a star-like pattern. "I bring my token for him."

Merlin knew ladies gave knights tokens, but Arthur had never worn one. He'd not wanted to appear to favor one subject over another.

"I can give it to him." Merlin reached out for it. The princess drew it back, but not before his fingers brushed it. An electric shock jolted through him, and Merlin's eyes widened as magic prickled along his arm.

"I will." The princess glared at him.

Merlin lowered his hand and backed up. "Of course." His eyes darted all over the tent, unsure what had happened and what he should do. The tent flap pulled back again and Arthur entered.

"Myrine!" Arthur called out in surprise.

"My lord," the princess spoke deferentially, curtsying.

Arthur walked up to her and grasped her shoulders. "Call me 'Arthur.' I am to be your husband, not your lord."

"Yes, Arthur." She looked up and smiled at him. "I made this for you to wear on your belt."

Arthur accepted the token. Merlin keenly observed his reaction, but Arthur obviously felt nothing. "I'll wear it proudly."

Myrine kissed his cheek. "I look forward to your success in the tournament." She left, Arthur staring after her.

"Well, Merlin," the prince said, turning. "Let's get me ready, then, shall we?"


	25. Set in Stone

Merlin kept eying Princess Myrine's token as he aided Arthur into his armor, possibilities tumbling through his mind. He could rip it out of Arthur's hands and run, but he was pretty sure Arthur would catch him and then what excuse could he make? He could warn Arthur, but that would require explaining how he even knew something was wrong when Arthur hadn't sensed anything. Either way he'd be impugning the woman Arthur had chosen to devote himself to no matter his feelings. Anything he said wouldn't go over well.

Merlin paused as he buckled Arthur's pauldron. Wait. What if the token wasn't even bad? He couldn't tell if the magic was good or bad from the feel of it. Maybe getting rid of the token was exactly what would lead Arthur down the wrong path. Princess Myrine had been abrupt with him, but hadn't she treated him that way since she arrived? Merlin stared into nothing, stymied.

"Merlin. Wake up!" Arthur shrugged his shoulders as he looked back at his servant boy.

Merlin blinked and continued connecting Arthur's armor.

"Something on your mind?"

Merlin tried to figure out how to be truthful without being truthful.

"Is it Myrine?"

Merlin swallowed. "Yes." _But not in the way you think._

"We've been over this."

"I was just thinking...the token she gave you..."

His armor secured, Arthur turned. "What of it?"

"There's something about it."

Arthur creased one eyebrow skeptically. "About the token."

Merlin knew he seemed an idiot, but he plugged ahead anyway. "It's just, it looks like, I don't know, that there's something wrong with it."

Arthur stared for a moment longer, then chuckled. He ruffled Merlin's hair like always. "My poor servant boy. I'll forgive you until she's my wife, but you need to get over this." Arthur moved to the tent flap. "Part of life is learning to accept what you can't change, Merlin." He exited.

Merlin blew out a long breath. That was exactly what he couldn't do.

* * *

Merlin pushed through gathered crowds as Uther stood in the royal box, raising his hands for silence. He had searched the medical pavilion for Gaius until it dawned on him the physician would attend the announcement.

"People of Camelot, friends of Deorham, today we celebrate the alliance of our two kingdoms and the end to much strife!"

Cheering surrounded Merlin as he scanned the nobles sitting near the royal box.

"The joining of our two countries is fortuitous for us and for Albion. Treaties may be broken, allegiances may fail, but bonds between families endure."

Merlin finally spotted Gaius.

"Today, I announce the betrothal of Prince Arthur of Camelot to Princess Myrine of Deorham."

The crowds clapped and shouted all the more.

"Gaius!" Merlin cried out. "Gaius!"

Gaius looked to the boy waving at him from below. He stood, moving to the box steps, and met Merlin at the bottom. "What is it?"

"Arthur. He's been given something, and it's wrong. Or maybe it is. I don't know. I need your help."

Gaius clasped a hand to Merlin's shoulder and guided him away from the crowd to an area outside the arena devoid of people. "Tell me."

"Princess Myrine gave Arthur a token."

"This isn't wrong, Merlin."

"No, but it is. I said I'd give it to him, and she wouldn't let me. I touched it and felt magic."

Gaius' expression turned contemplative. "What did it look like?"

"A gray embroidered cloth."

"Was there a pattern on it?"

"A star in gold and silver."

Gaius tapped his lips with one finger. "In the old days, there was an enchantment women used to make knights fall in love with them—a token embroidered with thread imbued with the depth of their love."

Relief flooded Merlin. "So Princess Myrine just wants Arthur to love her?"

"I'm not sure. The enchantment never really worked. Most who tried it had no magic ability to cause the desired effect. That you have felt magic is unusual. And a star pattern, that is uncommon as well."

"Why?"

"It's not a typical symbol for love, even in magic circles. A star tends to appear in enchantments involving darker magic."

Merlin ran a hand through his hair. "So I should take it from Arthur?"

"I doubt he'll let you do that, especially as his betrothal was just made public."

"I don't know what to do!" Merlin exclaimed.

Gaius laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "This is why I did not wish knowledge of the future on you."

"But if Arthur dies..." Merlin's voice broke.

Gaius' eyebrows met in determination. "Watch Arthur. If this is an enchantment, the kind it is should reveal itself. Report to me. And take heart. Remember: Morgana's vision is not immutable." Gaius squeezed his shoulder encouragingly, then moved away towards the medical pavilion.

Merlin stared after the physician wondering how he could be so very calm and assured when Arthur's life hung in the balance. He made his way back towards the arena entrance intending to watch the joust. He had almost reached it when Gwen came barreling out. She sighted him and her eyes burned with anger.

"Did you know?" she accused.

It took Merlin a moment to realize she meant Arthur's betrothal. "Not when he came to practice," he answered sadly.

Gwen's chin trembled. "So I looked all the more a fool to him."

"I don't think Arthur's ever seen you as foolish," Merlin defended his master.

"All this time. He was betrothed."

Merlin, distressed to see her so upset, shared his honest thoughts. "He doesn't love her."

Gwen narrowed her eyes. "Don't lie to me."

"He doesn't, Gwen. He just thinks he has to do this. I know he loves you, not her."

Gwen stared at him in surprise and spoke quietly. "What does that matter?"

Merlin flung out a hand, his emotions spilling out. "Because this is all wrong! He shouldn't be marrying her!"

Tears appeared in Gwen's eyes, and she rushed passed him. Merlin followed her with his eyes. This wasn't right. Any of it. The betrothal, the tournament, Morgana's vision. Merlin took a step to run after Gwen, then paused. He couldn't tell her about Morgana, and yet, he should say _something._

"Gwen!" Merlin called out, catching up to her and grabbing her arm.

"Leave me alone!" She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he held tightly.

"Arthur's in danger."

Gwen focused on him, tears streaking her cheeks. "W-What? What kind of danger?"

Merlin worried his lip. "I'm not sure."

"Stop pretending to make me feel better!" Gwen wrenched her arm away.

"It's true. I can't tell you like when he was poisoned, but I know he's in trouble. Something's going to happen."

Gwen stared uncertainly at him.

"I'm _not_ making this up. Someone's going to kill him."

"Why?"

"I...don't know."

Gwen shook her head at him. "What _do_ you know, Merlin?"

"I just... Argh!" Merlin let out a cry and turned away. Gwen's voice whispered behind him.

"Even if he is in trouble, what could I do about it?"

Merlin didn't look back. He had no idea.

"Arthur can take care of himself. He doesn't need me."

Merlin turned. "Gwen..."

"No more. Don't ever talk to me about Arthur again." She hurried away, slouched in defeat.

* * *

Merlin managed to shove his way to the front of the commoners watching the tournament. People around him grumbled and complained as the joust progressed. The knights of Camelot were known for their prowess, and yet, the knights of Deorham seemed better still. They unseated knight after knight. Until Arthur. The crowd whooped and hollered when their prince took the field. Even Merlin with all his worries shouted in jubilation when Arthur gave the knights of Deorham some of their own medicine.

By the time a break was called, only a few knights were left to face each other. Most were from Deorham, but both Arthur and Lancelot had maintained their places against them. Merlin jostled through crowds moving to lunch, wanting to help Arthur out of his armor and perhaps snatch the token away so he could show it to Gaius.

When he reached Arthur's tent, he heard Lancelot inside. "They're good."

"Too good," Arthur groused. "It's a disgraceful showing."

Merlin stepped inside the tent to see Lancelot already helping Arthur out of his armor.

"After this, we'll train two more hours a day," the prince announced.

"I don't think that's necessary," Lancelot countered. "Your knights are skilled."

"Not enough." Arthur turned, hard and angry eyes falling on Merlin. "I'm hungry."

"I'll...go get something," Merlin stammered.

Lancelot looked to Merlin and shrugged his shoulders at Arthur's foul mood. Merlin ran to retrieve Arthur's meal. He supposed Arthur wasn't used to his knights losing. He returned with two plates, handing one to Arthur and the other to Lancelot. Lancelot set the plate down as Arthur tucked into his meal.

"Don't you have your own tent?" Arthur muttered to his friend.

"I'll eat here."

"You have to prepare."

Lancelot laughed. "I'm ready."

"You'd better be."

Lancelot pulled a third chair over. "Come and eat, Merlin."

The servant boy sat down and Lancelot handed him bits from his own plate. Arthur avoided looking at either of them. After a time, Arthur threw a chicken leg down onto his plate and stood, pacing back and forth.

Lancelot sighed. "Arthur, this isn't worth getting so upset over."

Arthur turned on him. "This is _my_ betrothal, and we're showing we're weak and easily defeated!"

Lancelot shared an awkward glance with Merlin.

Arthur raked his hand through his hair. "This was what Alined wanted—Camelot revealed to be the weaker power, that he unites his house with a kingdom to be pitied."

Warning bells pealed in Merlin's mind. His eyes flitted to the token Arthur still wore on his belt even when out of his armor. Was Arthur simply disappointed in his knights or was this the token's enchantment at work?

"Alined wants this alliance," Lancelot argued. "It will make you both stronger."

Arthur snorted. "Stronger? By linking me to a woman I don't care for?"

Merlin shifted in his seat, hearing his words to Arthur twisted into anger.

"What does Myrine have to do with this?" Lancelot inquired.

"I'm nothing but a pawn. Someone Alined can boast he's snagged for his daughter."

"That's not true."

"Get out." Arthur furiously stared down Lancelot.

Lancelot tilted his head. "I don't think I should."

"I order you as your prince."

Lancelot slowly stood. "Arthur..."

"Go."

Lancelot picked up his plate, but whispered under his breath to Merlin. "I won't go far." He left with one more concerned glance at Arthur.

Silence reigned for a moment, then Merlin spoke quietly. "Do you want to eat more?"

Arthur waved his hand dismissively. Merlin stood to remove the plates. "Does Gwen really love me?"

Merlin looked up in confusion at the prince who only a few hours ago had rationally explained banishing any thoughts of Gwen. "Yes."

Arthur suddenly grabbed his plate off the table and tossed it across the tent. Merlin ducked as food flew everywhere. "They use me as if I have no will of my own!"

Merlin's chest rose and fell rapidly. This wasn't like Arthur. He got angry, but not like this. Merlin glanced at the token again. "I'll clean your armor and wash the princess' token."

As Merlin approached him with an outstretched hand, Arthur grabbed his wrist, twisting it back.

"Ow," Merlin gasped.

"Leave it alone." Arthur's eyes bulged.

"I just want to..."

"What?"

"Erm...Arthur...I think...I think something's wrong. I think that token is...enchanted."

Arthur stared into his eyes, then laughed and let him go. Merlin clutched his throbbing wrist. "Accusing Alined of magic. Now that is an idea."

"I didn't mean that. I really think it is. You need to take it off."

"That's ridiculous, Merlin."

Merlin stared into Arthur's eyes so unlike him and his frustration surged. "Why won't you trust me?"

"Because you're a servant boy." Arthur laughed again, amused. "What value are your words?"

"But you said I had wise words and..."

"Wisdom is for royalty."

Merlin snapped. "I'm not the prat marrying someone I don't care about."

The sound of a slap shot through the tent. Merlin gaped as he brought a hand to his reddening cheek. Arthur pointed a finger at him.

"Your duty is to obey me and nothing else. Keep your mouth shut." He turned on his heel and exited the tent.

Dumbfounded, Merlin stared after him, blinking at involuntary tears.

* * *

"Gaius?"

Gaius looked up from one of the knights he was treating for a hard knock to the head. Merlin stood just inside the pavilion, eyes wet and scared.

"Here. Drink this." Gaius handed the knight a vial, then shuffled over to Merlin. He gently brushed his cheek. "What happened?"

Merlin's breath hitched as he composed himself. "Arthur."

"He hurt you?"

Merlin nodded.

Gaius' brow knit, deep with worry. "Come here." He guided Merlin away from the knight and patients' cots. He brought his hand to his cheek, whispering softly. His eyes glowed gold and the sting disappeared. "Tell me what happened."

Merlin sucked in a shaky breath. "He was upset about the knights losing the joust. He said King Alined wants him to look bad, and he's just a pawn getting betrothed to a woman he doesn't love. And then...I said I'd wash the token and he wouldn't let me touch it and I called him a prat and he..." Merlin gestured to his cheek, unwilling to describe Arthur hitting him.

Gaius clenched his jaw. "This is no love enchantment. It's making him aggressive and antagonistic. This would explain why Morgana saw him attack the king."

"But why would Myrine turn Arthur against her father?" Merlin wondered.

"I don't know." None of this made sense.

Merlin furrowed his brow and stood up straight. "I'll tell Uther."

Gaius balked. "You can't do that."

"He'll stop the tournament."

"And how will you explain you knew about the token?"

Merlin shrugged.

"And what do you think Arthur will do when you make your accusation?"

Merlin bit his lip.

"It could be your insinuation that causes him to attack King Alined." Gaius wished he could give Merlin more answers than excuses. He wished _he_ had some idea how to manipulate the future's outcome.

Merlin rubbed at his cheek. "I can try to get the token."

Gaius looked with pity on the boy. He was so devoted to Arthur, so willing to risk the prince's anger to save him. "I doubt Arthur would let you near it. Enchantments cause people to protect the objects that bind them."

"I have to do something!" Merlin hissed. "Maybe Lancelot could help."

"Lancelot may know about you, but you shouldn't tell him. He knows enough already."

"He knows about Morgana, too," Merlin confessed. "He was the one who asked me to help her."

"Merlin," Gaius reprimanded. "How can I protect you when you don't tell me everything?"

"We can trust him." Merlin's eyes pleaded with the physician.

Gaius sighed. He hadn't liked it when Merlin revealed Lancelot knew he had magic. Gaius held nothing against the knight, but he was close friends with Arthur and had been loyal to the Pendragons to a fault. Gaius worried Lancelot's motives might be less pure than Merlin thought. Still, Lancelot had protected Merlin's secret. Perhaps the knight was an ally of magic after all.

Gaius patted Merlin's shoulder, fighting his fear as Kilgharrah had advised him. He couldn't let Merlin carry this burden alone. "I'll go with you."

* * *

Merlin and Gaius tracked down Lancelot standing at the edge of the arena.

"Merlin," Lancelot greeted. "Gaius." He turned his attention back to the arena. Merlin saw Arthur inside, striding up and down the barrier in its center. Merlin noted with relief the royal box was empty.

"What's he doing?" Gaius asked.

Lancelot shook his head. "I'm unsure."

"Lancelot," Merlin spoke quietly. "Arthur's been enchanted."

Lancelot looked down at him, then up at Gaius.

Gaius cleared his throat. "I am aware you know about Merlin."

Lancelot raised his chin. "I thought you'd sworn off magic."

Gaius wrung his hands. "I had, but Merlin has needed me."

Lancelot smiled and glanced at Merlin. "I should have known your secret was Gaius." He looked back at the stern physician. "You don't have to fear. I won't turn Merlin in...or you."

"See?" Merlin said, fixing Gaius with an "I told you" expression.

Gaius moved his gaze to Arthur. "Well, now that we agree about Merlin, perhaps we should discuss the prince."

"How is he enchanted?" Lancelot asked.

"The token the princess gave him," Merlin explained.

"We assume," Gaius clarified. "It's making Arthur aggressive. He hit Merlin."

Lancelot's eyes flashed. "He _hit_ you?" The knight balled his fists when Merlin nodded.

"If he's enchanted, he has little control over his actions," Gaius warned.

Lancelot rubbed at his chin. "I assume you know about Morgana's dream of the future."

Gaius nodded. "It might be best if Arthur were incapacitated in some way. Then we could remove the token without his interference."

Lancelot crossed his arms over his chest. "What if I unseat him during the joust?"

"Wound him?" Merlin asked in alarm.

"Only make him take a hard fall."

Gaius looked concerned. "Being that precise isn't easy."

"I can do it. I've practiced with Arthur hundreds of times." Gaius looked dubious, but Lancelot raised his eyebrows at him. "Do you have another suggestion?"

Disgruntled, Gaius shook his head.

* * *

Merlin hesitantly entered Arthur's tent. He'd had to return to help him back into his armor.

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted. "Late enough, aren't you? Let's get this on."

Merlin didn't answer, simply obeyed. Arthur didn't engage him in conversation, but muttered under his breath. Merlin made out snatches of "Alined" and "Myrine" and "knights." When he finished, Arthur pounded his way out of the tent without so much as a "thank you." Merlin trailed after him, his stomach in knots, and slipped among the crowd once more.

Arthur defeated the other knights of Deorham with ease. Merlin had been fearful Lancelot would fail against them, but he, too, maintained his standing. Finally, Lancelot was the only opponent left for Arthur to challenge. Merlin gripped the arena railing as they faced each other, his knuckles white. The two horses charged along either side of the barrier.

"Come on, come on," Merlin whispered, both wanting Arthur to take a fall and fearing he would.

Neither knight made contact on the first pass. They turned and charged again. Lancelot's lance nicked Arthur's shoulder, but the prince righted himself. He turned his horse and not waiting for Lancelot to line up for another go, rushed him. The crowd gasped as the prince broke protocol. Lancelot recovered as fast as he could, moving towards Arthur, but he was too late. Arthur's lance hit Lancelot full in the chest, and the knight tumbled to the ground and lay still.

* * *

When Merlin reached the medical pavilion, Lancelot was already laid out on a table, Gaius' assistants for the tournament stripping him of his armor. His eyes were closed. Merlin could hardly breathe. He heard footsteps running outside, and then Morgana appeared in the tent. She ran up to the table.

"Gaius! Is he...please, don't tell me...Oh."

"He is stunned, my lady," Gaius reported, grasping her by the shoulders to gently push her back. "I will tend him." He briefly locked anxious eyes with Merlin.

Merlin berated himself. Arthur excelled at the joust. Everyone knew that. They should never have let Lancelot attempt it.

Morgana twisted her hands, her eyes filling with rare tears. Merlin moved over to her. "My lady."

Morgana glanced down at him. "Merlin." She read the dread in his own eyes and pulled him into her side. "He'll be fine."

Gaius shook his head when he beheld Lancelot's left side sporting darkening bruises from his armpit to the bottom of his ribs. Morgana tightened her hold on Merlin. Merlin tried not to cry. The flaps to the pavilion opened and Arthur marched in.

"What was he thinking?" he shouted.

Morgana stared incredulously. "Him? What about you? You didn't have to attack him so ferociously."

Arthur ground his jaw. "I already heard a lecture from father. I don't need it from you!"

"You deserve it!"

"He's the one made me a disgrace." He gesticulated at Lancelot.

Morgana gaped. "I can't believe you, Arthur. Your best friend is wounded by your hand and this is all about your pride?"

Merlin watched their argument, his head spinning. Everything was out of control.

"And I thought I should be worried about _you_ ," Morgana accused. "Lancelot is more a man than you will ever be."

Arthur rushed at her. Merlin jumped in front of the ward, shoving his hands into Arthur's chest. Arthur snatched him by the arms and threw him to the side.

"Arthur!" Morgana shouted.

Gaius gestured to two of his assistants. "Get him out of here." They looked uncertain for a moment until Gaius shouted again. "I don't care if he's the prince." They made to move towards Arthur, but the prince whirled around.

"I don't need to be escorted like a child!"

Morgana stared after him in disbelief.

"Merlin," Gaius called. Merlin, who had just picked himself up off the floor, met Gaius' eyes. "Stop him."

Merlin dashed out of the pavilion. Arthur was marching away with his back to him. He had to get that token, no matter what. He spied a crate along the path, and his eyes flashed gold as it tumbled into the prince's way. Arthur tripped, sprawling.

Merlin made his move. "Let me help you," he said, reaching down towards Arthur, but instead of helping him up, he grabbed at the token. It tore along the seam as he yanked.

"What the... Merlin!" Arthur grasped his upper arm, holding him as he stood. He glared at the token partially torn away from his belt. He set fiery eyes on Merlin.

Merlin began to shake. _Magic. Use magic. Do it._ Magic rose under his skin. _No!_ Habit shoved it back down as self-preservation kicked in. With the mood Arthur was in, he'd send him to the chopping block in an instant, and curious people had already approached them. They'd see anything he did. Uther would hear about it and certainly have his head.

"Guards!" Arthur called out. Two came rushing to the prince's aid. Arthur tossed Merlin at them. "Put him in the stocks."

Merlin struggled in their grasp. "Arthur! Please! Arthur!" The prince walked away as if he didn't even hear his servant's cries.

* * *

By the time the guards reached the lower town, Merlin slumped in their grip. Tears graced his cheeks. He had failed. Nothing he had done mattered. He hung his head as he was locked in place, hardly hearing the voices calling out someone was being punished. One wretched truth filled his mind: Gaius was wrong. He couldn't fight the future. The future was set in stone.


	26. Sins of the Father

Gwen had heard the shouts and eager footfalls that passed by outside her window, running to shame whatever poor soul had been locked in the stocks. The humiliation was meant to exact justice and a warning, but she'd never delighted in tormenting anyone, no matter what they had done. She'd felt that way even before Elyan had been sentenced to the stocks, but she supposed his experience had made her thoughts on the matter more certain.

Gwen paused in her sewing, glancing down at the new shirt she was making her father. He and Elyan had been almost the same size when her brother left. What did Elyan look like now? She continued working, recalling Elyan's release from the stocks. Her father had refused to come; she had gone alone to help him back home and clean him up.

The side door to the forge swung open. "Gwen."

"Yes?" She laid the shirt in her lap, looking up at her father.

"I need these delivered. Noll said if he had them today, he'd pay extra."

Gwen stood, setting her fabric on a table and taking the tools her father held out to her. He smiled at her and left again. She guessed he wanted to get her out of the house more than he desired the additional coin. She'd been moping since the morning, though she'd said nothing. Wagging tongues would inform him of their prince's betrothal soon enough.

Gwen picked up her basket, setting the tools inside, and moved out into the lane. She trudged down it, pushing thoughts of Arthur out of her mind as she had for the last few weeks. Try as she might, a part of her still longed for him, the prince like a burr on her clothing she couldn't detach.

Gwen hesitated when jeering sounded up ahead. She sighed. The shortest route took her through the market and past the stocks. Unwillingly, Elyan came to mind. She could take a different path. But, no. She wouldn't be cowed by memory. She forged ahead.

She sighted the crowd first, flinging rotten produce with glee. She determined to walk as quickly as possible and avoid looking, but curiosity got the better of her and she glanced at the stocks. She halted, beholding a bowed raven head already decorated in mess. She dropped her basket.

"Stop!" Gwen cried out. She moved in front of the crowd, holding up her hand. "Stop it!"

Most of those facing her knew her, and they dropped their hands. She turned and approached the boy in the stocks. "Merlin?"

The boy didn't move. Gwen bent down and cupped his chin in her hands, lifting his head. Her heart sank at his dull blue eyes.

"Merlin," she breathed out. "What happened?"

Merlin stared beyond her as if he didn't even see her. "A-Arthur's going to die."

"Who did this to you?"

Merlin didn't respond.

Gwen looked to the guard on the right. "Who did this?" she demanded.

"The prince ordered him punished," the guard rumbled. "The whelp attacked him."

Gwen looked back at Merlin. "You attacked Arthur?"

"It doesn't matter," Merlin muttered. His eyes drooped.

"You've talked to him enough," the guard snapped. "Get back."

Gwen shot the guard a withering look, but gently let go of Merlin and joined the crowd. They continued their torment. Gwen stared in disbelief. Merlin would never attack Arthur. Never. Unless... She thought back to her conversation with the servant boy outside the arena. He had tried to convince her Arthur was in danger, but she had been so caught up in herself she hadn't listened.

Gwen turned, bolting back towards her home. She clattered through the door, dumping her basket on the table. He father entered the house at the noise. He glanced at the basket holding the tools, then at his daughter strapping on her sword. "Gwen?"

"I'm sorry. I can't deliver them."

"What are you doing?"

Gwen rushed to the door. "I'm not sure," she stated, sounding exactly like Merlin had earlier. She marched out of the house and down the lane. At the least, she was going to give Arthur a piece of her mind. At the worst...well, she'd decided to arm herself, just in case.

* * *

Gaius had finished wrapping Lancelot's chest. The knight still hadn't come to, but then, his head had rebounded off the ground quite hard. The hit he'd taken from the lance left him with three broken ribs, but from what Gaius could tell, none had punctured any vital organs. Lancelot would recover.

Morgana occupied a stool next to the knight's cot, and Gaius pondered as she held his hand and wiped his brow. Although Morgana had always been far more demonstrative than most noble women, she maintained decorum. She touched Lancelot in such a tender way, Gaius suspected more than simple care for a friend.

Gaius glanced at the tent exit. Merlin hadn't returned, and he had grown worried. He should look for the boy and find out if he'd met with any success in obtaining the token from Arthur.

"Morgana, I must leave for a time. I know the king will expect you in his box..."

"I'm not going back." The ward fixed defiant eyes on him. "I don't care what Uther thinks."

Gaius smiled to himself. _This_ was Morgana. "Then you can watch over Lancelot until I return."

"I will."

Gaius handed her a vial. "Give him some of this if he wakes and do not let him move."

Morgana nodded and turned her attention back to the knight. When Gaius reached the tent flap, he glanced back at her. Better she was here, anyway. If her vision did come to pass, she wouldn't be present to see it.

* * *

Arthur brooded just inside the arena entrance. The crowds had returned, ready for a display of swordsmanship from the knights that had managed not to incapacitate themselves during the joust. Arthur had shunned his sorry excuses for knights, punishing them by his absence, and choosing instead to glare at the royal box.

His father and the king of Deorham chatted back and forth. Princess Myrine sat straight and still, the perfect princess. Too perfect. Passive, demure, devoid of spirit. Not a woman to rely on for wisdom and support, and he _had_ to marry her because the two kings sitting in the box had determined the outcome of his life.

Alined. He had initiated the match to begin with, subtly suggesting he'd give up his claims on Camelot's lands if their houses joined. But Arthur sensed a deeper game. Alined had never looked on them with favor. Why now? This wasn't Deorham joining Camelot as an equal. This was Deorham crushing Camelot under its boot.

Arthur clenched his fists. He moved towards the royal box.

"Arthur!"

Arthur stalled and turned, the appearance of the woman he preferred over Myrine intruding on his intentions. "Guinevere?"

"What is wrong with you?" she demanded, stopping a few feet from him, hands on her hips. "You dare put Merlin in the stocks?"

Arthur's brow furrowed. "He attacked me."

"I don't believe it."

"Here's proof." Arthur flapped the half torn token hanging from his belt.

"What does that have to do with it?"

"He tried to take it!"

Gwen raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"He thinks it's enchanted." Arthur laughed.

Gwen considered the embroidered cloth. She knew what it was and who it must have come from, and now that she could think straight, she trusted Merlin. "Then take it off."

"No," Arthur returned, as if she'd proposed the stupidest idea in the world.

"What harm is there in testing if Merlin's right?"

"You're in league with Alined."

Gwen stared. "What?"

"What did he offer you to manipulate me?" Arthur's hand went to his hilt.

Gwen echoed his action, her heart pounding. Merlin _was_ right. Something was very wrong. "Give me the token."

Arthur scowled. He cared for this girl, but her request was ludicrous, even dangerous. "No." He drew his sword. "Get away from me."

"Arthur..."

"He put you up to this." Arthur glanced back at the royal box. "He won't rule me!" He charged.

Gwen sprinted after him. By the time she reached him, Arthur had leaped into the royal box. The crowd that had been anticipating the melee grew silent with shock as they watched the prince draw his sword and slash out at the king of Deorham. Uther stood, shouting Arthur's name, while Myrine jumped back. Gwen caught a satisfied smirk on her face. Merlin's words came back to her: _Arthur's in danger...Someone's going to try to kill him_.

Arthur fell backwards as King Alined shoved him out of the box. He lay dazed on the ground, his breath knocked out of him. Alined jumped down and swiped a knife out of his boot. He swung it downwards, but instead of slicing through the prince, it clanged against a sword. Gwen planted herself in front of Arthur. "Leave him alone," she ground out.

King Alined's eyes blazed. "Stay out of this, girl."

King Uther had followed King Alined, and stalked towards them. The crowd twittered, the unexpected display in front of them way more exciting than a typical melee.

Uther pointed his sword at Alined. "Get away from my son."

"Your son tried to attack me!"Alined shrieked. "This is war, Uther."

"Get. Back."

"Was this your doing?" Alined shouted. "Lure me to Camelot for an assassination?"

"If Arthur drew his sword on you, he had good reason." Uther glanced behind Gwen, his expression proclaiming Arthur better have an explanation or else.

Arthur made to stand. He fumbled for his sword, then recalled it had been knocked out of his hands in the royal box.

Gaius had arrived just in time to catch Arthur's attempt to kill Alined. He rushed to the four figures in front of the royal box, three of them holding drawn swords and brandishing them different directions.

"This is betrayal!" Alined shouted. He sidled away from Uther and slashed at Gwen, trying to get around her to Arthur. The girl's sword caught his and she pushed back. The king was unprepared for her strength and staggered back. He leaped again, but Uther had stepped in front of Gwen.

"I sense betrayal," Uther growled, "but not from my son."

Gaius, who had been debating his responsibilities in this whole affair, swallowed hard. He had stood to the side so many times in fear of his life. This was his chance to redeem his cowardice. "I believe this may be to blame, sire," Gaius said, reaching down to the token Arthur wore. Arthur made to grasp it, but Gwen placed her sword to his chest. Arthur glared at her and lowered his hand. Gaius ripped at the token until it came off. He held it up.

"An enchanted token, sire."

Uther glowered at Alined. "From _your_ daughter."

"Knights of Deorham!" Alined shouted. The arena suddenly came alive, knights pouring from every direction, many on horseback. Alined stepped backwards as his knights took up position behind him. Myrine had disappeared from the royal box.

"You're a fool, Uther," Alined smirked. "It took an elderly physician and a servant girl to uncover the truth. You've silenced magic instead of using its power."

Uther stared, flabbergasted, for once unable to form words.

"Your enemies grow. They gather against you and will use all means to defeat you."

Uther's throat had gone dry. "You...never used magic before."

Alined cackled. "Some of the magic in Camelot fled to me, and I let it in for a price. You do not yet know my power. You do not know what magic lurks in Camelot waiting for the time to arise."

"You want war," Uther realized.

Alined turned to a knight holding the reins of a horse. He mounted. "You don't deserve your throne, and you will lose it. I have no doubt, for you are a hated king, Uther Pendragon."

Uther's face went white.

"Camelot will never be yours." All eyes fell on Arthur. "My father is a good king. He's preserved Camelot and saved it from great evil." He turned to the crowd sitting in the boxes and standing along the rails. "You are safe because King Uther has made you safe. Any who threaten Camelot threaten us all. We will not let our kingdom be taken by the likes of you!" Arthur jabbed a finger at Alined.

The crowd murmured and several cheered.

"You thought you could use magic to take us this day?" Arthur derided. "We are strong without magic!" The knights of Camelot had appeared. Though smaller in number than Alined's force, they appeared all the more fierce. "And if our knights do not defeat you, our people will."

Most of the crowd now shouted. Several sitting stood and those standing shook their fists in defiance.

Alined's eyes darted back and forth. He glared at Uther. "Unless you desire much bloodshed this day, you will let us pass unhindered."

Uther scowled. Arthur read his expression. "Father. He isn't worth it."

"Get out," Uther growled. "If anyone from Deorham steps foot in Camelot, their death will be on your hands. You can be assured our eyes will be on you."

Alined dug his heels into his horse's sides, galloping to the exit of the arena followed by his knights. The crowd cheered. Gaius moved to Uther's side. "Your people, sire."

Uther turned and raised his hands. "For the love of Camelot!" The people echoed his cry, and Uther basked in the adulation of his people.

"Guinevere."

Gwen looked to Arthur as she sheathed her sword.

"I want to say..."

"You put Merlin in the stocks."

Arthur stared at her for a moment, recalling everything he had done while wearing the token. "Merlin...Lancelot."

"Lancelot is resting," Gaius spoke loudly over the shouts of the crowd. "He will mend, sire."

Arthur bolted from the arena, ignoring his father calling after him.

* * *

"Unlock him! Now!" Arthur thundered when he reached the stocks in the lower town. His heart had rent when he saw his servant boy barely managing to stand, bent over on his tip toes.

The guard hurried to do his bidding. The stragglers who were still pelting the boy backed away. Arthur caught Merlin himself as the upper board pivoted upwards, releasing him. The boy fell back stiffly into Arthur's arms. Arthur lowered him to the ground, letting him lean into his side.

"A bucket of water, cup, and cloth," Arthur ordered. The guard ran to obey.

Merlin's head tilted back, and his eyes widened. "Arthur? You're alive?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Arthur asked, the joy in the blue eyes staring at him cutting him to the quick.

"I thought...I thought..." Merlin coughed.

"Wait," Arthur commanded. When the guard returned, Arthur dipped a cup into the water bucket and held it to Merlin's lips. The boy drank eagerly, some of the water escaping down his chin. Arthur submerged the cloth, then began to wash the collected grime from Merlin's face and hair. He didn't notice people in the market stopping to stare in shock.

"Merlin. I'm sorry."

Merlin's eyes went to Arthur's belt. "It's gone."

Arthur looked down, then back at the boy and nodded.

"How?"

Arthur spoke softly, explaining all that had happened in the arena.

"Gwen saved you?"

"I guess she did."

"She changed it."

"What?"

Merlin looked startled for a moment, then grinned. "You were saved by a girl."

Arthur chuckled, glad his servant boy's mistreatment hadn't destroyed his humor. "I don't think I'll mind _this_ time."

Merlin sighed and leaned heavily into him. Arthur supported the boy with a hand to his back. "I thought you'd die."

"How did you know?" Arthur asked quietly.

"I just...had a funny feeling."

Arthur looked him in the eye. "If you ever have a funny feeling again, remind me of this. I promise, Merlin, next time I'm going to listen."

* * *

Arthur personally escorted Merlin to Gaius' chambers. Merlin kept looking up at him, hardly believing he walked next to the prince. He had lost all hope of saving Arthur.

 _Remember this lesson, young warlock_ , the dragon's voice sounded in his head. _The future is shaped by choice. Be wary, but never despair._

Merlin nodded to himself.

"What are you thinking?" Arthur asked, catching his nod.

"Erm...I'm just glad you're here."

Arthur directed him to the steps that led to his room. "Change your clothes. I'll make sure you get something to eat."

"I'm okay," Merlin insisted. "You should see Lancelot."

Arthur cringed.

"It wasn't your fault."

Arthur clenched his jaw. "Perhaps not, but it feels like it is... I hit you. I'm sorry. I swear I'll _never_ do that again."

"What if you get enchanted again?"

"I give you permission to knock some sense into me anyway you need to."

Merlin smiled. "Maybe I'll get Gwen to do that."

Arthur chuckled. "Maybe."

"I'll be all right, Arthur, really."

Arthur moved away. "I'll be back."

Merlin nodded, watching the prince leave the room. He stiffly climbed the steps, massaging his aching back. He slowly undressed, laying his clothing on the bed. He waved a hand over them. " _Fordwin wamm_." He smiled. They looked good as new.

Merlin moved to a washstand and poured water into a basin. He rubbed at his neck and face and doused his hair, catching anything Arthur had missed. Arthur was alive. Arthur was _alive._ He wrapped himself in a blanket and lay on his side in bed. He couldn't stop smiling, not until he fell into a deep sleep and soft snores escaped his lips.

* * *

"Well done, Merlin."

Merlin ducked his head as Gaius commended him. "It was Gwen," he spoke from the table where he dug into a plate of food Gaius had prepared. He felt starved after such a trying day.

"It was _you_ ," Gaius insisted. "She told me you talked to her this morning. It wasn't wise, but that action saved Arthur's life."

Merlin smiled with half his mouth. "And me in the stocks."

"Well, that, too." Gaius shook his head. "I'm sorry, Merlin. If I had known what Arthur did I would have helped you."

"I don't think he would have listened to you."

"Yes, but I could have tried."

Merlin shrugged. "I'm fine."

"It's all around town, you know."

"What?"

"What Arthur did for you. How he knelt in the dirt and tended to his servant boy."

Merlin's ears went red. "Is it?"

"It's a good thing," Gaius said. "They're saying Arthur is a friend of the people."

Merlin marveled. After everything that had happened, Arthur had come out on top. At least something good came out of all his pains. He pushed at the food on his plate, his thoughts deepening.

"What is it?" Gaius asked.

"I was just thinking about Morgana." He looked up at Gaius. "Seeing the future _is_ maddening. If she keeps dreaming..."

"She'll believe they are simply nightmares."

"But, Gaius, some day, something will come true. She'll be terrified. Maybe...maybe we should tell her."

Gaius' face clouded. "I have my hands full protecting you from Uther, and you don't even see him often. Morgana is with him daily. I will not put her in danger."

Merlin chewed at his bottom lip. He understood why Gaius didn't want to tell Morgana, but after what he'd been through, he feared for her sanity.

"We'll watch over her, Merlin," Gaius assured.

Merlin nodded, eating silently, unconvinced Gaius' way was the right way.

* * *

A day after he'd been wounded, Lancelot strolled the east gardens, walking arm in arm with the woman he loved.

"You hold no grudge against Arthur?" Morgana inquired.

"How can I?" Lancelot asked.

Morgana sighed. "I'm trying not to."

Lancelot smiled. "You always did take forever to forgive. I think it was, what, six weeks before you pardoned a playful push into the mud?"

"I hated you back then," Morgana disclosed.

"I know."

"You kept doing things like that!"

"I was a young lad enamored."

Morgana halted. Lancelot grinned. "You loved me even then?"

"Not loved. Idolized."

"And so you threw me in the mud?"

"You paid attention to me, didn't you?"

Morgana shook her head. "Stupid boys."

"And yet you love us."

Morgana playfully shoved her shoulder into his arm. They wandered in silence for a time, until they found a bench to settle on.

"What if Uther finds us?"

"He's busy meeting with the council." Morgana eyed him. "But I'm not afraid. I don't care if he knows."

"Morgana, we should be careful."

" _I_ will choose who I pursue, not Uther." Her eyes has grown fiery.

Lancelot smiled again. "I know better than to fight that expression."

Morgana looked down at her hands tightened in her lap. "About Arthur..."

"Forgive him."

"I will sometime, but I wanted to say... You know what I dreamed."

Lancelot worked to look casual. "A nightmare."

Morgana fixed him with an intense stare. "I saw him die."

"But he didn't."

"No, but from the story I've heard...he almost did."

Lancelot slid an arm around her waist and pulled her into him. "He was to fight in a tournament, and your worry appeared in dream."

Morgana leaned her head on his shoulder. "But I saw him attack King Alined, and that's what happened."

"Coincidence."

Morgana whispered. "You don't think...I saw what would happen?"

Lancelot kissed the top of her head. "No. But perhaps you have a woman's intuition. You sensed the king and princess were not what they seemed. Natural gifts, not prophetic vision."

"Yes. You must be right," Morgana muttered, but she stared fearfully into colorful flowers.

* * *

Arthur rapped on Gwen's door. Morgana had retired, and he assumed the servant girl had been let go for the night, though she might have gone home. He smoothed his hands along his pants and ignored the short giggle from the servant boy behind him. The door opened.

"My lord."

"Guinevere." They locked eyes for a moment before Arthur cleared his throat. "May I come in?"

Gwen bowed her head. "Of course, my lord." She pulled back, opening the door wide. Arthur sauntered into the small room, scanning it. He'd never been here.

"I wanted to express my gratitude for your actions."

"You don't need to, sire."

"I think I do. Merlin?"

Merlin ambled up to Gwen's table and set a large basket on it. Gwen looked inside and fingered a pile of soft fabric. "It's so fine, sire. Thank you."

"I thought you could make me some shirts. I know you make dresses for Morgana sometimes."

Gwen's face fell. "Oh. Yes. Whatever you wish."

Arthur nervously rubbed his hands together. "And I thought, when you finish them, you might deliver them...to my chambers...at the evening meal."

The corners of Gwen's mouth turned up. "I could do that, sire."

"Good." He walked back to the door, then turned. "And...perhaps call me Arthur when it's just the two of us."

"Yes, my lord." Her gaze fell on Merlin.

"Merlin doesn't count," Arthur amended.

"Then, yes, Arthur." Gwen nodded gracefully.

Arthur left, leaving Merlin to shut the door. He marched down the hall. "Stop grinning like a court jester, Merlin."

"You're not even looking at me," Merlin protested from behind.

"I know you too well."

Merlin tried to fight his smile reaching from ear to ear.

* * *

"I found a hair sewn into the thread," Gaius reported, setting the token in front of Uther.

The king sat at the desk in his room. He stared at it as if it might bite him. "What does that mean?"

"I assume it's a hair from King Alined, sire. The enchantment increased the prince's aggression, but it's main purpose was to focus his anger on the king. I believe the king wished Arthur to give him a justifiable reason to kill him. And I surmise he knew you would defend your son, and if he killed you as well, he could have used his knights to assert his right to the throne after such an attack."

"A weak excuse," Uther muttered.

"But such things have been done, and since Arthur is your only heir or living relative..."

"Yes," Uther murmured. An uncomfortable memory surfaced, himself as a young man usurping the throne of Camelot with bloodshed. "How did you discover this token?"

Gaius raised his chin. "Merlin reported the prince's odd behavior. I asked him if the prince had done anything differently. He told me about the token."

"We are fortunate you remembered this particular enchantment."

"Yes, sire."

"Thank you, Gaius. You may go."

Gaius strode to the double doors and out. When they closed behind him he breathed out in relief. He'd made his lie as truthful as possible. He'd been terrified the king would question his return to dabbling in magic, but Uther's trust in him was secure after all these years.

Inside the king's chamber, Uther stood, picked up the embroidered cloth by the corner, and tossed it into the fireplace. He stood with one hand braced on the wall, watching the fabric burn to ashes. He rubbed at his temple. Twice now, magic had targeted his son. Alined's words taunted him: _You do not know what magic lurks in Camelot waiting for the time to arise._

Uther balled his fists. He'd decimated magic and still it haunted his kingdom. Too trusting, he had let it infect the very seat of Camelot's power. Where else could it be hiding? Who else might have infiltrated the heart of his kingdom? He needed to be sure.

Uther marched to the door, opening it and speaking to the guard always on duty to do his bidding. "Send for Garel." He closed the door and waited, pacing back and forth in front of the fire. Finally, the door opened, and his oldest and most respected knight entered the room.

"My lord." Garel bowed.

"I have a task for you. It will not be easy, but you must not fail."

"Yes, sire."

"There is a man named Aredian. I want him found and brought to me."

Garel cocked his head. "I remember him, my lord."

"We have need of him again. Leave at first light."

"Sire." The knight bowed once more and departed.

Flames from the fire flickered in Uther's eyes. If any magic lurked in Camelot, the witchfinder would expose it and cleanse his castle once and for all.


	27. Cast in Shadow

"Gaius. I'm looking for Merlin."

The physician lowered the book he was consulting to peer at the prince over his glasses. "I thought he was with you, sire."

Arthur's brow furrowed. "With me?"

Gaius straightened, removing his glasses. "I sent him to collect herbs a while ago. When he didn't return, I assumed you needed him."

Arthur shook his head in exasperation. "I swear he dawdles more than any servant I've ever seen! I guess I have to track him down."

"Sire?" Gaius asked before Arthur reached the door. "Send the herbs when you find him."

Arthur nodded shortly and departed.

Gaius smiled to himself, replacing his glasses and meaning to turn back to his reading, but pausing a moment to ponder. Arthur and Merlin had become virtually inseparable. They couldn't always be in each other's company, but it seemed more often than not, if you found one, you'd also find the other.

Gaius tapped a finger against his book. Arthur may have grumbled, but Gaius saw through the front—Arthur was concerned, not for his servant, but for a boy who meant more to him than he'd possibly admitted yet. Gaius skimmed the sentence he'd last read, sobering as thoughts of magic destroyed the illusion that all was well. Arthur cared for Merlin, but an unseen shadow clouded their relationship. Gaius couldn't help but fear that Arthur's feelings might change in an instant if he discovered Merlin hid the worst secret of all.

* * *

Arthur methodically searched the parts of the forest that typically contained the herbs Gaius needed. Ostensibly, he looked for Merlin because his chambers needed tidying up, but in truth, Arthur's business had kept him from seeing the boy much in the past two days. He figured he should check on Merlin, just to make sure the boy wasn't in any trouble.

Arthur mused. It wasn't like Merlin had actually _been_ in any trouble recently, but still, he had promised the boy's mother he'd look after him. He'd failed four months ago. Sometimes his harsh actions still came to mind—slapping Merlin and later ordering him to the stocks. Rationally he understood he bore no blame, but memory had recorded the betrayal on Merlin's face as he cupped a reddened cheek and his desperation as he was dragged off to the stocks. Arthur had redoubled his efforts to make sure no further harm came to the boy.

He'd found numerous ways to occupy Merlin: Rides through the forest to increase Merlin's skill. Simple patrols with little danger involved. Hunting, though Merlin was rubbish at it—Arthur suspected sometimes on purpose. Reading practice as Merlin sought out more difficult books. Weapons training with Lancelot and Gwen when she could join.

Arthur's thoughts lingered on Gwen. She had turned sixteen, though she acted so much older. She'd been bringing him the shirts she sewed for him one by one over the last months, almost always joining him for his evening meal. He maintained discrete distance, sitting at one end of the table, she at the other. If anyone disturbed them, he could easily explain he discussed with a servant instructions for making his clothes.

Through their meals, Arthur had learned much about Gwen. Her mother had died when she was six; she'd contracted a fever and passed suddenly. Gwen had taken on her tasks, running their home and suffering the pain of growing up without a mother. Her father and brother hadn't filled in the gap of a woman's guidance. Arthur had gradually spoken of his own mother, hoping to comfort Gwen. He hadn't needed a woman's guidance per say, but a mother's nurture would have been welcome.

Arthur paused. He heard his servant boy's voice ahead, muttering softly. He crept up, thinking to scare the wits out of the boy for making him track him down. He stopped on the edge of a clearing, however, as he saw Merlin cradling a brown and white feathery creature. He had seen Merlin do this before with animals. He didn't know why, but they were drawn to him, and Merlin went out of his way to care for any injured creature that crossed his path.

The prince observed for several moments. Merlin's compassion was one of his most pervasive qualities. Arthur wondered if it came from being raised in a simple village. Castle life seemed to diminish compassion as those in the court concentrated on playing political games of one-upmanship. So much of his day was spent in the company of those who postured in the presence of royalty or groveled for their acceptance. Sometimes he needed Merlin to remind him of kindness and the open ways of childhood.

Arthur had long forgotten if he'd been in any way like Merlin when he was a child. He suspected not. He'd spent his time at Uther's side or in the company of tutors and mentors, all focused on his proper upbringing and understanding of royal ways. He recalled the motivation his father held over his head: "Your mother wants you to make her proud." Arthur had never revealed how he'd berated himself for disappointing his dead mother when he failed. Over time, he recognized he needn't fear his mother's ghostly judgment, especially as his queries about his mother resulted in stories of her gracious and quiet spirit.

Arthur gazed on Merlin. Maybe Merlin's compassion came from his mother. Absent a father, perhaps his mother's love and kindness affected him more, just as having only a father removed nurture from Arthur's equation. He hadn't really known that kind of affection until Morgana arrived and treated him as her pet doll. It had been smothering and yet, kind of nice.

"Arthur?"

Arthur shook himself out of his reverie and looked on the servant. Merlin's smile lightened his heart. "Gaius says he sent you to find herbs. That's a rather unique herb."

Merlin shifted his hold on the bird in his lap, appearing a little guilty. "I think it's blind."

Arthur slipped down next to his servant. The bird's sharp eyes flitted here and there. "How do you know?"

"Well, he didn't react when I came to the clearing."

"He would have heard you."

"And when I wave this in front of him, he doesn't care." Merlin held a dead mouse by its tail.

"Hm."

"Is he a baby hawk?"

Arthur peered closely at the bird. "A kestrel. How in the world did you get him to let you hold him?"

"He just flew to me and sat on my arm," Merlin said. "See?" He pulled his sleeve back to reveal superficial scratch marks.

Arthur rubbed at his chin. "That indicates training. Though how someone could train a blind kestrel, I don't know."

"Maybe by sound?"

"Maybe."

"We can't leave him here. What if he can't feed himself?"

Arthur smiled. "You think Gaius will allow a bird flapping around his chambers?"

Merlin sighed. "No."

"Let's take him to the falconer. He can tell us if he really is blind, anyway."

Merlin brightened and stood. The kestrel abruptly flapped out of his hands an alighted on his shoulder.

Arthur laughed. "If anything, he likes you."

As they walked back towards the castle, Arthur swiped a basket of herbs off the ground. Leave it to Merlin to forget everything else for a blind bird.

* * *

"He's blind, all right," the falconer, Barrett, agreed, flicking his fingers in front of the kestrel. "Odd though. He does seem trained. Most would just kill it. More compassionate than letting it starve."

"Kill it?" Merlin asked, horrified.

Not for the first time, Arthur wondered at Merlin's innocence, like he had never seen death, but Arthur knew that wasn't true. Merlin had grown up poor, familiar with the death of starvation and disease, but for some reason, it hadn't dented his soul. Once again the idea of Merlin's mother popped into Arthur's mind. He still had a hard time forgiving her for daring to study sorcery and endanger Merlin and yet, Merlin's character indicated she was indeed a good woman.

A strange question rose in Arthur's mind: What had his father's influence done to his soul? Arthur shifted on his feet, uncomfortable with too much reflection. He turned his thoughts back to the moment at hand.

"In the wild, it would have lost out to other chicks in the nest anyway," Barrett explained. "The mother might have even expelled it for the sake of the others."

"I'll take care of it!" Merlin declared, clearly scared the falconer might end its existence right then and there.

"Can it stay here?" Arthur asked, indicating the noisy mews that housed the royal falcons.

"I suppose if the boy takes it under his wing." Barrett chuckled at his own joke.

Merlin grinned.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

* * *

A few days later, Merlin traipsed through the castle, peering in and out of doors. He held a passel of flowers in one hand and kept getting the odd look here and there, but he didn't mind. He finally found what he was looking for in the kitchens—a feminine figure preparing a tray of food. He strolled through the kitchen, stopping a moment to reach for a sweet roll. A sudden sting erupted in his backside and he turned to see the Audrey, the cook, brandishing a ladle.

"Ow," he muttered, rubbing at the brief pain.

"Not today, you rascal," the cook reprimanded, but with a smile. "I need all of them. However..." She leaned over a table and retrieved a tiny berry tart. "Leftover from last night." She handed it to Merlin who grinned and made his way to the dark haired girl looking every bit pretty even while working.

"Hey, Gwen." He leaned against the table she stood over and stuffed the tart in his mouth.

"Merlin," Gwen greeted, though she sounded upset.

"What's wrong?" Merlin asked while chewing.

"Morgana isn't feeling well, and there's an important guest coming tonight, and the king wants to eat a special dinner with him. She doesn't want to excuse herself."

Merlin swallowed the tart. "Is Morgana sick?" He feared the answer.

"Not sleeping well again." Gwen finished the tray and picked it up.

Merlin fell into step next to her as she left the kitchens, worry etched on his brow. Dreams again. Nightmares, probably. He really wished Gaius would see fit to tell Morgana the truth. He had debated doing it himself more than once, but then he'd recall how maddening it had been to know the future. He couldn't imagine bearing it constantly. If Gaius told Morgana, at least he might have some idea how to help her through it.

"Maybe these will make you feel better," Merlin encouraged, holding up the bouquet and smiling.

Gwen glanced around the hall and whispered, "Don't make it too obvious."

Merlin lowered the flowers and echoed her volume. "Why not? He loves you."

"Yes, but you-know-who can't find out."

"You-know-who will find out whenever he tries to make Arthur marry again."

Gwen looked away. "I don't even want to think about that."

Merlin continued to stride silently next to Gwen. The girl fretted quite a bit over Arthur's attentions, even though she delighted in them. Uther wouldn't be happy if he ever found out. At the same time, Merlin knew Arthur. His mind and will had focused on Gwen, and Merlin didn't think even Uther would be able to dissuade him.

They reached Morgana's door. Merlin opened it for Gwen, who nodded gratefully. He made to put the flowers on the tray, but Morgana called out.

"Is that Merlin?"

"Yes, my lady," Gwen answered.

"Have him come in."

Merlin set the flowers in the hall and stepped inside the room. The curtains were partially drawn, casting the room in shadow. Morgana sat in a chair, looking worn down, albeit still beautiful, dark hair flowing over her shoulders. Merlin bowed. "My lady."

"My Merlin. Come." Merlin approached her, and she took his hand. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to continue your studies."

"It's alright. Arthur makes me read all his correspondence, and he finds me books to copy."

Morgana smiled weakly. "I hope they aren't all about hunting and battle tactics."

"Not _all_ of them," Merlin answered with a grin.

"Gwen," Morgana called. "Why don't you read to me."

Gwen picked up a book as Morgana let Merlin go. "Don't let Arthur work you too hard."

"He doesn't."

Morgana raised her eyebrows.

"Well, not much. And there's always Lancelot to make sure he doesn't."

Morgana's eyes gleamed for a moment. Merlin hadn't spent too much time with the knight recently, but apparently he and the Lady Morgana were still courting.

Gwen ushered Merlin to the door. When he reached it, Merlin picked up the flowers. "What about these?"

"Put them in my room," Gwen hissed, shoving him out the door and closing it.

Merlin turned, entering Gwen's room to slide the flowers into a vase, then retreating and walking back down the hall, his latest task from Arthur accomplished. He stewed over Morgana's fate all the way to the mews where he waved to Barrett.

The falconer waved back, but when he reached him, Merlin saw his face screwed up in anger. "I'm afraid you can't take care of him today."

"Why?" Merlin asked, his eye running over the mews, looking for his pet.

"He's gone."

Merlin's heart stopped. "Gone?"

"I'm as surprised as you," Barrett reported. "I always leave the mews secured when I'm not around."

Merlin stared, desperately searching for the blind kestrel, but unable to find him. His chin trembled, and he tried not to cry. Arthur always said a man wasn't worth tears, and Merlin was sure birds weren't, but still... He had come regularly in the last few days to feed the kestrel who ate so gently out of his hand, totally unfalcon-like behavior, according to Barrett.

"If someone steals my birds," Barrett grumbled next to him, cursing and listing all the horrible things he'd do to a thief.

Merlin slumped back to the castle. He hadn't even thought of a name yet.

* * *

Arthur sighed at his formal attire as he entered the dining hall. After a long day of training new recruits what he wanted was dinner in his room and a visit from Guinevere. Instead, obligation meant he had to attend a meal for his father's special guest. His father had cryptically informed him that morning an important visitor had come to the castle and would say nothing more except that he'd been sent for months ago. For this reason, Arthur paused at the end of the table, scrutinizing the man sitting to his father's left.

With all the secrecy, Arthur had expected someone more impressive. The man was short, balding, and roughly similar in age to his father. A black robe swallowed his lean frame. He turned to look at Arthur, revealing crystal green eyes that fairly glowed with reflected light.

"Arthur," Uther welcomed and gestured to the man. "This is Aredian."

Arthur approached the table and nodded. "Aredian. Welcome to Camelot."

Aredian nodded back, but didn't speak. Arthur took his seat. The door to the room opened once more and Morgana entered, ravishing as always, but appearing a bit drawn. She was introduced to their guest as well and sat down next to Arthur at Uther's right, facing their guest.

Aredian kept conspicuously silent as Uther forced small talk until the servants had finished bringing in dishes. The king commanded that they not be disturbed as they ate, leaving the four alone. Arthur and Morgana shared a glance at the unusual request. Uther drank from his goblet, then cleared his throat.

"Arthur."

"Yes, father?" Arthur drank from his own cup and set a piece of fresh venison in his mouth.

"Two times now, you have come under attack."

Arthur swallowed the meat. "Attack?"

"Nimueh and Alined."

Arthur let out a breath. "We were all targeted by the sorceress."

"Yes," Uther murmured, as if he didn't want to remember. "The fact remains that magic has infiltrated the heart of Camelot twice now, and we have not detected it."

Arthur squirmed in his seat, feeling the weight of his father's disapproval.

"We cannot allow this to happen again."

Arthur noticed Morgana's hand next to him shaking. He looked to her and she mouthed, _I'm alright_. He turned his attention back to his father. "What do you propose?"

"This is why I have asked Aredian here."

Arthur looked over at the balding man who spoke for the first time. "You do not remember me, Prince Arthur Pendragon." His voice was thin and wispy.

"I apologize if I've forgotten." Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"You were quite young, and I do not believe you attended any of my interrogations."

"Interrogations?" Arthur inquired, looking to Uther.

"Aredian is a witchfinder," his father explained.

Morgana's hand shuddered all the more and she clasped her arms in her lap. Arthur caught her movement, wondering if he should react the same as he considered the small man across from him once more.

"I don't think I've heard the term," Arthur said.

"We haven't had need of them in recent times," Uther clarified, "but Aredian is the most trained of them all and will serve us well."

"And what will he do?" Arthur asked his father, but the nebulous voice across from him answered.

"Root out the magic endangering your capital."

Arthur glanced between his father's determined eyes and Aredian's unnervingly passive gaze. "I hardly think any sorcerers would dare to live within the walls of the capital. Our enemies were both outsiders."

Aredian began to chuckle, a quavering sound. "So naive."

"Excuse me?" Arthur asked, annoyed at the description.

"Pardon me, Prince Arthur, but you have not lived through the horrors of magic like your father. You do not know its subtle ways. That it desires this kingdom, I have no doubt."

Uther sat back in his chair, not even touching his plate, seemingly having lost his appetite. Morgana, too, didn't eat. Arthur looked at the two, then back to Aredian. "We shouldn't give in to fear."

Aredian linked his long fingers together. "If you do not fear magic, you are a fool."

Arthur scowled.

"Arthur," Uther spoke quietly. "We cannot let magic into this kingdom."

"And how will we find what you think is already here?" Arthur asked.

"I do not think it is here. I know it is here," Aredian said.

"Oh, do you?" Arthur asked skeptically.

Aredian stood. He pushed back one side of his robe and withdrew a small and familiar kestrel. Arthur's stomach twisted. "Nero has told me."

Uther looked entirely uncomfortable as he spoke. "What has it revealed?"

"There is a sorcerer here. A great one."

Arthur let out a nervous laugh. "This bird told you?"

"He is not just any bird," Aredian explained. "He has the gift of magic sight. He may appear blind, but he sees deeper than you or I. He is drawn to magic, and when he finds a sorcerer, he tells me."

Arthur stared at the man, half certain he was crazy, and half scared he was truthful.

"Arthur," Uther spoke again. "Aredian has unconventional ways of seeking out sorcerers, but I have seen them work before."

Aredian nodded gravely. "Usually I can see the sorcerer Nero finds, but this one is cast in shadow. This sorcerer must be more powerful than any I have ever met, and he or _she_ , resides in this very castle."

* * *

Gaius jumped up when the door to his room slammed open and banged against the wall.

"Where is he?" Arthur growled, standing in the doorway.

"Merlin?" Gaius asked, shocked and wary at the prince's expression.

Arthur nodded, eyes blazing.

"In his room. Arthur, why?"

Arthur ignored him, running to the steps to Merlin's room and climbing them in less than a second. Gaius hurried in his wake. He stepped in behind Arthur to see Merlin standing up and quickly closing a book laid open on his bed. Gaius' heart sank. It was the grimoire.

Merlin's eyes were wide. "Arthur?"

"Did you lie to me?" the prince demanded.

"I-I haven't..."

The prince stepped closer to his servant boy, his fists clenching and unclenching. "I want to know if you've deceived me, and I want to know right now."


	28. A Matter of Trust

Gaius stood behind Arthur, taut as a bowstring as the prince demanded the truth from Merlin. His chest burned and he clutched his fist to it. He'd let Uther destroy enough people. Merlin would not fall by Arthur's hand even if it cost him his life.

Merlin blinked rapidly. "I don't know what you..."

"Did your mother teach you magic?" Arthur pressed.

Merlin relaxed a little and shook his head. "No, Arthur, never. She never did."

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"I'm telling you the truth!" Merlin swore.

Arthur let out a long breath. "You'd better, Merlin."

"I _am_."

Arthur slumped down on Merlin's bed. Merlin joined him, sliding the grimoire off the other side and leaning over to shove it under the bed. Gaius propped himself up against the doorway, exhaling in relief that he hadn't needed to use his own magic against the prince.

"Why are you asking this?" the physician inquired.

Arthur propped his elbows on his knees, clasped hands supporting his chin. "A man has come. A witchfinder."

Gaius' eyes widened. "A witchfinder?"

"His name's Aredian."

Gaius stared, horror stricken. Merlin's insides clenched at Gaius' expression.

Arthur tilted his head. "Who is he?"

Gaius spoke lowly. "A man responsible for the deaths of hundreds."

"Sorcerers?"

"And innocents. Aredian extracted confessions from many, but he only needed a superficial connection to magic to send someone to an execution."

Arthur looked away. "My father employed him."

Gaius felt a surge of pity for the prince. "For a time. Until he felt the capital had been cleansed."

"Cleansed?"

"It's what Aredian calls it. Arthur," Gaius spoke softly, "your father became wary of Aredian's ways. He distanced himself from him."

Arthur rubbed at his forehead. "But he's brought him back now."

"Why?"

Arthur sucked in a breath. "Because of me. Because magic has tried to take my life."

Gaius raised his chin in understanding, and his eyes met Merlin's. The boy stared back in a mix of confusion and fear.

"Tell me, Gaius, about witchfinders," Arthur implored.

"They were once sorcerers. When magic was outlawed, they turned from it and offered their services to expose those who still followed its ways."

Arthur rose, raking a hand through his hair. He paced to a wall and leaned against it, peering at Gaius. "Did they use magic to do so?"

Gaius nodded. "They derided magic, yet utilized it to hunt down those who hadn't renounced it."

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, his face clouded.

Merlin looked wide-eyed at Gaius. "But how could they use something illegal to find people doing the same thing?"

Gaius stared at Arthur. He didn't want to declare Uther's hypocrisy, but it was clear. "If you capture an enemy's weapon, you don't hesitate to use it yourself to defeat him. That was the principle of the moment."

"Aredian still uses magic," Arthur murmured.

"Within limits," Gaius clarified. "Witchfinders rejected some forms of magic. They shied away from anything directly involving themselves, preferring magical objects."

"And animals," Arthur added.

"Yes," Gaius said slowly.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. "The kestrel, Merlin."

"He's gone," Merlin replied sadly.

Arthur looked up. "It's here."

"But he wasn't in the mews today. Barrett didn't know how he got out."

"The bird belongs to this witchfinder. It's magical."

Merlin avoided looking at Gaius, knowing the worry he'd see there. "What?"

"Apparently, Aredian sent it ahead to seek out out magic wielders."

Gaius drew in a breath. Arthur looked over at him. "That's why it's blind," the physician muttered. "It's an old practice. The bird is deliberately blinded to teach it to rely on magic alone. That's why it seeks out anything with the strength of magic in it."

Merlin's eyes grew as wide as saucers. "Heblinded it _on purpose_."

Gaius nodded.

"It saw someone," Arthur went on, ignoring Merlin's repulsion. "A sorcerer."

"It saw Merlin?" Gaius asked, pretending bewilderment.

Arthur shook his head. "Aredian couldn't see who it was. He said they must be very powerful."

"I don't understand," Merlin said, looking between Arthur and Gaius.

"Since he's trained the bird," Gaius explained, "Aredian can see what it sees. It's a bit complicated, but in making it blind to all but magic, Aredian can access what the bird has seen, translate the bird's knowledge into his own sight. The bird cannot see, but he can."

Arthur pushed out from the wall, flinging his hand out. "It doesn't matter how he does it. He's questioning the falconer in the morning and Merlin," the prince's anxious gaze fell on his servant boy, "Barrett will tell him you found the kestrel and have been tending it. He might assume it saw you."

The blood drained from Merlin's face, and he looked to Gaius, seeing his terror reflected there, both of them understanding the kestrel _had_ seen him.

Gaius swallowed again. "He'll want to question Merlin."

Arthur stalked over to the boy and took him firmly by the shoulders. "You can't mention your mother. Don't tell him anything about her."

"I won't," Merlin breathed out.

"Arthur...Aredian is very good at making people admit anything," Gaius warned.

"Not this time," Arthur declared. "Merlin, grab a few things you might need the next few days." He stepped over to Gaius. "I want him in my chambers as soon as possible."

Merlin jumped up when Arthur hurried down the steps. "Where are you going?" he called after him.

"To talk to my father."

* * *

Gwen had just finished preparing Morgana's bed for the night when the ward returned from her dinner with the king and his guest.

"My lady," she greeted, but Morgana didn't seem to hear or notice her, passing into the room and falling into a chair.

Morgana tried to control the trembling in her limbs. The visiting guest had kept looking at her throughout the dinner. She was used to men's eyes roving over her. She knew she possessed beauty, but this wasn't the same. She swore his eyes had pierced into her soul, exposing her fear and suspicions.

Gwen approached her slowly. "How are you feeling, my lady?"

Morgana turned her head. "Gwen." She brought a hand to her lips.

Gwen touched her arm gently. "You need rest. Your nightdress is behind the screen, and the bed is ready."

Morgana suddenly grasped both her hands. "Don't leave me tonight, please. I'm so tired. I can't sleep and the dreams are always there."

Gwen bit her lip. She'd intended to drop by Arthur's chamber to bring him another shirt she'd completed. He'd taken to wearing clothing made by her hand more than anything else he owned, and every time she passed him in the hall, his eyes drifted to his shirt and then to her, and he smiled as if they shared a private joke. She'd been longing for his presence the last few days.

"You're safe."

"Gwen..." Morgana choked on her words.

Gwen creased her brow. Morgana was often scared when she woke, but she seemed so terrified now and she'd just been at dinner. "What is it, my lady?"

"There's a man here. He's seeking out magic."

"A man?"

"A witchfinder."

Gwen shook her head. "I've never heard of someone like that."

"What if...my nightmares...what if they're more than dreams?"

Gwen smiled gently. "They aren't magic."

"But if they were..."

"My lady," Gwen assured, pushing back a hair that had escaped behind Morgana's ear, "they're not."

Morgana nodded slowly.

"Do you want me to go to Gaius?"

"No," Morgana said quickly. "Stay with me. I can't be alone."

Gwen sighed. "Of course I will stay with you. Let me go to my room and return."

Morgana watched her servant girl leave, then put a hand to her forehead. So many dreams and so many coincidences. How many times did she have to see the connection until she believed it? She placed a hand over her pounding heart. The truth was within her grasp, and fear was tormenting it into the light.

* * *

Arthur hesitated outside his father's chamber. He'd conflicted now and then with his father like any son, but he'd never thrown his father's past failures in his face. He'd tried to pick his words as he strode down the hall, but none of it felt right. Still, he couldn't say nothing and let things fall as they may.

Arthur rapped on the door.

"Come," Uther called.

Arthur pushed open the door to find his father's manservant just finishing settling him in for the night. Uther, already in his nightclothes, stood next to his bed.

"Arthur," Uther greeted, looking surprised.

"Father, I'd like to talk to you."

Uther ran an eye over him, and Arthur tried to look impassive, standing with his hands behind his back. Uther waved dismissively to the servant, who departed. "Speak."

"We should not employ Aredian."

Uther stared at him. Arthur tried not to squirm under the gaze he'd always found condemning even if that wasn't its intention. "This is to protect Camelot and you."

"He uses magic," Arthur stated, striking to the heart of the matter.

"You don't understand."

"I understand." Arthur moved his hands from behind his back to fold them over his chest. "We're using magic to hunt out a sorcerer. We're breaking our own laws."

"Arthur," Uther spoke indulgently as if his son were a child again. "The witchfinders don't use magic in themselves."

"But they use magical objects and animals and who knows what else!"

"Magic hides itself. It's not revealed easily and sometimes it takes one who knows its ways to find it. Aredian knows magic and that's why he can find it. We need him now."

"I don't trust him."

"Then trust me." Uther's eyes burned.

Arthur quailed a little under his gaze. "I trust you. And even you decided not to use Aredian at some point."

Uther's eyes narrowed. "You talked to Gaius, did you? You should have come to me directly. I am your father."

Arthur felt the weight of guilt. "I'm sorry."

Uther stared angrily for a moment, then his irritation faded. "I understand why this bothers you. I did not call for Aredian lightly, and I intend to keep him on a tight rein. Witchfinders can be too zealous, but he is under my orders and will obey me."

Arthur's mind flashed to Merlin, his faithful servant who'd already saved him twice. It was on the tip of his tongue to mention Merlin had found the kestrel, defend the boy here and now, but something in him resisted as he met his father's eyes. The destruction of the Druid camp came back to him, Druid children struck down. He hadn't taken a sword against any of them himself, but his father's knights had carried our his father's desires fully. Arthur blinked to clear his mind of the memory. "I want to know something. The truth."

"I will never lie to you," Uther said.

"Did Aredian accuse innocent people?"

Uther firmed his jaw. "As I said, witchfinders can be overzealous."

"And did that bother you?" Arthur searched his father's eyes for any regret.

"It was why I dismissed him, and is why now he will bring all findings to me, and _I_ will determine the truth." Uther stepped up to Arthur and placed a hand on his arm. "He will find any magic here. We will be free of it. And he will leave."

* * *

"Merlin, you must stay with Arthur at all times."

"You already told me that," Merlin replied to Gaius as they left his chambers.

"Aredian will try and force you to confess. You must keep your answers short and as truthful as you can."

"You told me that, too."

"This is serious, Merlin," Gaius said.

"I know."

Gaius stopped, grabbing his shoulder and turning him to look in his eye. "You don't."

"Gaius..."

"If Aredian suspects anything at all he will use brutal methods to get it out of you."

Merlin shifted the bag in his hands. "Like what?"

"Torture and pain."

Merlin chewed his bottom lip. "Arthur won't let him."

"Arthur will try to protect you, but he isn't king yet. Uther will decide what Aredian may be allowed to do."

Merlin scowled. "You'd think after saving Arthur more than once I'd get some kind of trust around here."

Gaius' expression softened. "Sometimes I think I should make you leave Camelot."

Merlin straightened to his full height. "I'll never leave Arthur."

"And that's why I don't make you." Gaius smiled kindly. "Just be careful and wise and keep your mouth shut more than usual."

Merlin smiled. Even he knew he tended to prattle too much, though as far as he could tell, Gaius liked it. Merlin's smile faltered. The witchfinder would like it, too, if he said something he didn't mean to. He could keep to "yes" and "no" if he had to. He'd just pretend he was interacting with supercilious royal visitors as usual.

* * *

By the time Merlin and Gaius reached Arthur's chambers, the prince had returned.

"Merlin," Arthur said, indicating a pallet laid near the fireplace and a pile of blankets. "I've set you up for the night there."

Merlin nodded and walked over to drop his bag next to the set up.

Arthur moved close to Gaius and spoke quietly. "My father feels we need Aredian to find the magic that's here."

Gaius gripped Arthur's right arm. "Merlin will be in danger."

"I won't let anyone harm him."

"Be careful, sire."

"Merlin is safe with me."

"Keep him with you. I can manage on my own for a time."

Arthur nodded, then dipped his head.

"Arthur."

"Hm?"

"You're doing the right thing."

Arthur glanced up. All the way back to his chambers he'd asked himself why he couldn't trust Aredian like his father could. He understood his father believed this was the only way to preserve Camelot. He was just being loyal to his people. _And me._ But Arthur couldn't discount the insatiable lust in Aredian's eyes as he spoke of rooting out any magic in Camelot. He'd seen such before in the faces of enemies who killed without reservation. Why didn't his father see it?

Arthur's eyes wandered to Merlin, standing expectantly, looking at him and Gaius. He was thirteen, on the cusp of being a youth, but he was still a boy. A boy who'd been been dragged into something that didn't concern him. Yes, this was the right thing.

"Goodnight, Gaius," Arthur spoke quietly. The physician bowed his head, shared one last look with Merlin and departed.

Arthur turned to his servant boy. "Do you need anything?"

Merlin smiled slowly. "I think I'm supposed to ask that."

Arthur smiled back. "I think I've forced you here as my guest, so, do you need anything?"

Merlin shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Well, then..." Arthur moved to the dressing screen to change for the night. Merlin took the opportunity to get himself undressed and in his nightclothes. He sat down in front of the fire, staring into it. He pondered Gaius' words to him about Aredian. He hadn't even laid eyes on this witchfinder, but the fear he caused in everyone around him made his stomach somersault.

 _Merlin._

Merlin's head snapped up. _Can you hear me?_

 _Yes. And you have every reason to fear. You cannot expose yourself to this man._

 _I won't._

 _Do not seek me out while he is here. We will speak this once and not again until he leaves._

 _Why?_

 _Trust me, young warlock. It is for your safety as well as mine._

Merlin looked back into the fire again, tracing the dancing flames. Even the dragon feared this man? He drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. He'd read in one of the books Arthur used for his studies that sorcerers had once been burnt to death. As he watched the flames lick the wood, he recalled a time he'd fallen and caught his hand in the cooking fire back home. He'd screamed in pain, and his hand had been bandaged for weeks. Gooseflesh rose as he imagined what scorching flames would feel like over his whole body. A presence sat down next to him, and he looked over at Arthur.

"I'm sorry I found the kestrel," he muttered.

Arthur felt a flare of annoyance that his servant boy had to apologize for his compassion. "You didn't know... _I'm_ sorry."

"Why?"

"I shouldn't have accused you. I had no reason to think you'd lied to me."

Merlin gazed back at the fire. _But I do deceive you. Every day._ He tightened his hold around his legs. "Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"What if my mother _had_ taught me magic? Would you hate me?"

Arthur didn't speak right away and Merlin didn't look at him.

"I haven't mentioned your mother much because I haven't wanted to hurt you, but what she did was very wrong."

Merlin's head sunk down to rest on his knees. He noticed Arthur hadn't really answered the question.

"Sorcerers attempted to kill me when I was born. Poisoned me. Alined meant to take our kingdom. I've never seen magic used for good. Magic's path corrupts."

"The whirlwind in Ealdor," Merlin murmured.

Arthur didn't answer for a moment. Words his father had spoken when he'd sat by his bedside after Nimueh's attack rang in his ears: _Those who practice magic know only evil. They despise and seek to destroy goodness wherever they find it. Which is why she wanted you dead. She is evil._

"Sometimes, Merlin, desperate people use magic because they feel they have no other choice. At least your mother gave up her study before it enticed her too far down its path."

Merlin turned his head to look at Arthur's serious and sympathetic face. "You didn't say if you'd hate me."

Arthur met the boy's earnest blue eyes. "I don't have to worry about that."

"But..."

"You can't trust those who use magic. You never know when they'll turn on you."

Merlin turned away, closing his eyes and willing back tears.

Arthur glared into the fire. Which was why he couldn't trust Aredian, and why he didn't understand his father. If those who practiced magic knew only evil, how could Aredian possibly be trusted?

* * *

Long fingers stroked a kestrel's feathers. "What have you seen, Nero. Tell me." A hand stilled on the kestrel's back for several seconds, then relaxed.

Aredian rubbed at his temple. Every time he attempted that his head ached with the effort. He could see nothing but a swirling mist of shadow. Never in his life had he ever encountered such strong magic, not even when he'd tracked down the last of the high priestesses. No one had successfully hidden from Nero until now.

Aredian pulled a book from his pocket and laid it on the desk next to the bird's feet. Nero hopped out of the way and fluttered to the window sill. He tapped his beak against the glass.

"Not tonight. I will have work for you tomorrow."

Aredian opened his records, swiftly turning page after page. He stopped and ran a finger over a short paragraph, noting the number before it: 304. That had been one from last year. Enough villages were willing to hire him when suspicious circumstances arose. This one had been a Druid, and in the midst of his babbling during a particularly nasty bout with a hot poker, he'd spoken a name: Emrys.

Aredian had heard the prophecy, of course, some inane chatter about the one who would unite Albion through magic. The Druids called this one Emrys, it seemed, but 304 had told him even more. Emrys had arrived. And even though Aredian doubted the prophecy, he didn't doubt that a sorcerer more powerful than any before had appeared.

A misty shadow, a sorcerer so strong he could remain hidden within magic itself. Emrys.

Aredian closed his eyes, opening himself to the ebb and flow of magic around him. He sensed it all throughout the earth, in the living things around him, but he couldn't find anywhere it tightly concentrated, except... That annoying thrumming coming from underneath the castle.

Years ago, Aredian had warned Uther not to capture the dragon. It was a danger and infection on Camelot, and Aredian vowed that once he'd dealt with Emrys, the dragon would be next.


	29. Beneath the Surface

Uther stood on the castle balcony overlooking the courtyard. The pyre had been assembled. A prisoner shuffled forth, head whipping every which way, eyes wide in fear. Uther was unmoved. This was his fault, and he was making it right. He'd been remiss to allow this boy anywhere near his son.

Arthur watched below as the raven headed boy passed him. "Arthur! Arthur!" he cried out, but Arthur avoided his gaze. He'd been lied to and deceived. A guard handed him a torch. Arthur waited until the boy had been secured to the stake, then approached.

"Arthur. Please."

Arthur confronted the boy. "You've committed the worst crime. Now you pay the price." He touched the torch to the pyre and stepped back. The flames swallowed up the kindling and soon they licked at the boy's feet. He began to scream...and scream...and scream...

* * *

Arthur shot up in bed, his heart about to burst out of his chest. He wiped burning sweat out of his eyes and squirmed in his soaked nightclothes. He lit a candle on the stand next to his bed as the fire had burned low during the night. Fire... He shuddered, standing and holding the candle as he moved to the wardrobe to retrieve dry clothing. He paused, glancing at the boy who slept in front of the hearth. Merlin lay with one arm under his head, the other splayed out to his left. Arthur moved over to him and knelt down, setting the candle on the floor.

Arthur had drifted into sleep disturbed over Merlin's inquiry. When Merlin had asked him if he'd hate him if his mother had taught him magic, he'd tried to avoid the question. He should have been unequivocal like his father, replied that magic deserved hate and derision and death, but he hadn't been able to say it. Instead he'd blundered about with some kind of response about trust, his thoughts cast back to Aredian.

It wasn't just that he didn't want to hurt the boy about his mother, Arthur realized, it was because he couldn't give a sure answer one way or the other. How would he feel? He didn't know.

Arthur brushed damp hair off his forehead. His dream clung to him like his wet bangs—Merlin being burned for magic practice. Arthur stared down at the raven headed boy. "I swear I'd never hurt you, Merlin," he whispered. It would be like killing a brother. But hate him? Arthur shook his head. He wished he had a solid answer.

He stood, retrieving clean clothes, changing, then sliding back into bed, the turmoil of his mind solitary company.

* * *

Morgana twisted and turned as she slept. Images flashed through her mind—the balding witchfinder throwing a figure to the ground, Arthur searching desperately through a wood, Lancelot holding a torch close to his face, Gwen drawing her sword. Her eyelids fluttered. She began to groan.

A woman appeared in her dream, thin and gaunt, blue eyes piercing her. She opened her mouth and pain shot through Morgana as a voice whispered in her ear, _Know who you are._

Morgana opened her eyes. Her muscles ached; her body was stiff as a poker. She stared into the dark. _Why is this happening to me?_

The dinner came back to her, Aredian's gaze fixed on her like every secret of her life was exposed to him. _He knows._

Morgana sat up. She could run, now. Leave. But, no. That would make it obvious something was happening to her. Morgana wrapped tight arms around herself. She had no one to turn to. Who would believe her? And even if they did, the truth would put her in danger.

In Ealdor, it had taken much effort to make the village elders see Merlin's mother wasn't a threat even if she had studied some magic. And how many times had she implored Uther to recognize a harmless use of magic when deciding judgment? But he was single focused.

Morgana brought a hand to her throat. She hadn't wanted to consider Uther could kill her, but would he? She realized with a start she couldn't answer the question.

"My lady?"

Morgana jumped as Gwen rose from a chair she'd fallen asleep in.

"Gwen."

"Are you alright?"

"I..."

Gwen approached and sat next to her. She rubbed a hand over her back. "Your dreams?"

Morgana nodded. "Gwen. What do you think of magic?"

Gwen's hand stilled. "My lady, please don't think your dreams are magic."

"No, I really want to know. What do you think of it?"

"I suppose that it's not to be trifled with."

"And what of those who practice magic?"

"I'm...not sure."

"Why?"

"You always argue so well with the king."

Morgana smiled thinly at that.

"What you say makes sense. And Merlin's mother used it, and I think she did a good thing, but a sorceress tried to kill Arthur... So, I don't know."

"At least you don't sound so ready to kill those who use it."

Gwen laid a kind hand on her arm. "What if I promise you if you have magic, I'll still serve you?"

Morgana patted Gwen's knee. "Dear Gwen. Arthur's lucky."

Gwen withdrew her hand. "Arthur?"

"I know you see him."

"He asked me to make some things for him."

"Yes. And to take them to him. I'm not blind."

Gwen didn't answer.

"For what it's worth, if Arthur is ever brave enough to admit his feelings for you publicly, I'll browbeat Uther until he agrees."

"Why don't you lay down, my lady?" came Gwen's guarded reply. "And let me sing for you."

Morgana rested her head on the pillow, listening to Gwen's sweet voice singing an old ballad of love. She let her mind wander to her own love, to Lancelot, somewhere in the castle, maybe on duty or sleeping. What if he knew? He was the king's knight. Surely he would denounce magic out of duty.

Morgana crushed her hands to her chest. She couldn't tell anyone. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

* * *

"Merlin! Get up!"

Merlin blinked his eyes and stared up at Arthur peering down at him.

"Breakfast."

Merlin sat up, rubbing at his eyes. He raised his arms above his head and yawned as he stood. Arthur smirked as he pulled out a chair at the table. "What?"

"How you can sleep so soundly when you are in so much peril is beyond me." Arthur sat down.

Merlin sauntered over to the table and flopped into a seat next to Arthur.

"There's a man who might think you have magic and attempt to get the truth out of you, and you don't seem to care."

Merlin shrugged. "I care. But you'll keep him from doing anything, right?"

Arthur nodded.

"Then, I guess I don't need to worry _too_ much." The fears of the night wielded less power in the bright light of the morning. If he spoke succinctly, the witchfinder wouldn't have anything to pin on him. His eyes roamed over the table and the two platters that had been filled with sausages, rolls, fruits, and bowls of grain. "I get to eat this?"

Arthur suppressed a smile. "You're my guest. Eat up."

Merlin took the plate Arthur offered him and piled it high, digging in with abandon.

"Doesn't Gaius feed you?"

Merlin responded while chewing. "Yeah, but it's never this good or this much!"

"I'm glad you're getting something more in you, then. You're spending the day with me, and this morning we test new recruits."

Merlin stopped chewing and eyed Arthur. "You're not going to..."

"Water boy and shield carrier."

 _Ugh_. Merlin chewed slower, hoping to stave off the boredom as long as he could.

* * *

The door to Gaius' chambers creaked open, and the physician looked up from his work. "May I help..." His breath caught in his throat, and he firmed his jaw. He'd been expecting this visitor.

"Gaius." The balding Aredian locked eyes with the physician.

"Aredian." Gaius didn't move or raise a hand in greeting.

"It's been a long time."

"So it has."

Aredian moved his gaze around the room. "I'm looking for your assistant. Merlin, I believe?"

"Merlin is with Arthur."

"The prince?"

"He serves him."

"Hm," Aredian intoned. He wandered farther into the room, eyes searching it. "So you've stayed here all these years."

"The king has never found fault with my services." Gaius spoke neutrally, but Aredian caught the implication anyway.

"You mean as he did mine? Well, you see he brought me back now."

"I suppose he thinks he had no choice."

"He couldn't rely on you, could he?" Aredian's crystal green eyes swiveled his direction. "Unless magic has become your way again."

"The king has no reason to doubt my loyalty," Gaius replied staunchly.

"Perhaps not. Your assistant, however." Aredian tapped his cheek with a finger. "Comes from Essetir, yes? A foreigner. And in the prince's service?"

"Merlin is a child. He is no threat to Camelot."

Aredian turned and moved back to the door. "We shall see."

"Aredian," Gaius called after him. "This is not like last time. Uther will not be so easily persuaded to kill any you target."

Aredian didn't look back. "You haven't changed, Gaius. You still let compassion cloud your vision."

"Better that than be consumed with hate. Every man, woman, and child you condemned haunts your steps. Friends, Aredian."

Aredian glanced back. " _Your_ friends."

"Family."

Aredian turned on his heel and exited.

Gaius pressed a hand to his chest, taking several long breaths.

"Well done, Gaius."

Gaius startled, turning. A pale woman stood at the bottom of the stairs that led to Merlin's room. She appeared older for her age even though her brown hair tied back in mountains of braids remained glossy. "Nimueh," Gaius breathed.

"Where did this bravery hide when my kin died?" Her bright blue eyes were hard.

Gaius took a step towards her.

"I'm not really here."

Gaius paused, then moved close to her and threw a hand out to test the truth of her statement, his gesture meeting air.

"Always Gaius. Testing and analyzing. Careful. Never rash."

Gaius stared at the image. "I told Uther he was wrong."

"But you didn't save them, did you?"

"No, and I'm sorry."

Nimueh's gaze scrutinized him, and she spoke quietly. "I think you are, though I'm not here for an apology. I've taken an interest in your little charge."

"Merlin?"

"Yes." Nimueh grinned. "Merlin, I suppose you call him. Tell me. Did he surprise you, such a gangly thing with so much power?"

Gaius stared at her.

"I mean him no harm."

"I wish I could trust you."

"Like I trusted you?" Nimueh snapped. "I don't think you have a right to question my integrity."

"You almost killed Arthur."

"I gave him his life."

"And that means you have the right to take it?"

"Perhaps."

"Then I cannot trust you."

Nimueh's bright eyes drifted into the middle distance, away from the physician. "That's what is so touching about this young one. He's not been beaten down by life yet. I thought he'd come to us full of experience and wisdom ready to fell Uther's unjust kingdom, but fate sent a growing child to shape and mold."

"You tried to use him to destroy the prince."

"Yes, and I regret it."

Gaius cocked his head as her eyes focused once more on him.

"If he can change the prince, who am I to stand in his way?"

"Then you do not come here to hurt Arthur or Merlin. Uther?"

Nimueh smiled slowly. "I come to rebuild what was lost. To make way for Emrys. I've waited and now is the time."

"Why come to me?"

"To tell you Aredian knows Emrys has come. He will covet his power. This is no ordinary witch hunt."

Gaius glanced to the door. "How do you..." He looked back. Nimueh had vanished.

* * *

Merlin tumbled backwards as one of the new recruits demonstrated his strong arm, swinging a sword repetitively into the shield Merlin braced himself behind. Arthur clapped, moving to congratulate the recruit. Merlin pulled himself up off the ground, rolling his aching shoulders. At least that had been the last one.

"Hey, boy, water!" one of the other recruits called out to him.

Merlin slogged to the side of the yard, setting down the heavy shield, then ladling water from a bucket into a cup. He trudged back across the yard, handing it to the young man.

"About time," the man grumbled. "Thought a servant to the king would be more efficient."

Merlin, used to arrogant nobility, but no less annoyed as he had been when he first encountered them through Meleagant, rolled his eyes.

"And I thought a knight of Camelot would be more honorable in his speech."

Merlin glanced up at the man who had joined him, hands on his hips, glaring down at the recruit. "Sir..." Lancelot inquired.

The recruit swallowed. "Baudwin."

"I'll remember that. Perhaps you shall soon need lessons in good manners. What say you, Sir Leon?"

Leon, who had followed behind Lancelot, nodded gravely. "Indeed. Though it would be a hassle. The last knight that required such training took, what, a week to recover?"

Lancelot nodded to Leon. Sir Baudwin shrunk down in his seat. Lancelot turned away, spinning Merlin by the shoulder. Merlin grinned at the two knights. "Thanks."

"Anytime, Merlin," Lancelot smiled.

"Merlin, water!"

Merlin sighed, running back to the bucket and filling another cup. He dashed to Arthur, who took it gratefully and downed it.

"Sire."

Arthur lowered the cup and looked to the guard approaching. His stomach lurched. "Yes?"

"Your servant boy is asked for."

Arthur handed the cup to the recruit standing next to him and laid his eyes on Merlin. The boy looked so trusting. He steeled himself. If Aredian dare accuse his servant, he'd bring the whole weight of his authority on the witchfinder, and if necessary, the point of his sword.

* * *

As they traversed halls leading to the guest room reserved for Aredian, Merlin replayed the conversation between himself, Gaius, and Arthur. Aredian knew a powerful sorcerer was in Camelot, but hadn't been able to see him. Merlin absentmindedly scratched at the top of his head. Gaius claimed he had some amazing gift being born with magic, but he couldn't yet fathom why such power had been granted him. It certainly couldn't be just to accomplish the small skills Gaius taught him, useful as they were. He had saved Arthur, and that would be enough for him, but he wondered if he was meant to accomplish even more.

Merlin sighed. And Arthur still thought magic was bad, but he couldn't really blame him. Even the short time he'd been in Camelot, he hadn't met many who used magic for good. Maybe that was because Uther had killed them all. Merlin swallowed nervously.

When they reached Aredian's door, Arthur knocked. The door opened, the witchfinder smiling abjectly at them, though his expression appeared sinister to Merlin knowing he was the guilty party in this whole affair.

"Ah. You're Merlin?"

"Yes," Merlin answered.

"I've brought him as you asked," Arthur said.

"Thank you, sire. Come in, Merlin." Merlin stepped inside, and Aredian began to shut the door. Arthur threw up his hand to prevent the door's closure.

"I will be attending as you talk to him."

Aredian's eyes sparked for a moment, then relaxed. "Of course, my lord."

"He is my servant, under my charge. I want to know exactly what he's been up to."

Merlin worked to keep his face impassive at Arthur's careful wording.

Aredian drew back, letting the prince enter as well. "Please sit here." Aredian indicated the table in his room. Merlin sat down and Arthur next to him. Aredian took a seat across from them. He contemplated Merlin for several seconds. Merlin tried to still the wild beating of his heart, reminding himself Arthur wouldn't let him come to harm.

Aredian held out his arm and whistled. The kestrel Merlin had found winged its way across the room to its human perch. "I've spoken to the royal falconer. He says you brought him this bird." The kestrel clambered up onto the witchfinder's shoulder.

"I was the one who suggested that," Arthur answered before Merlin could speak.

"Oh? And why was that?"

"Merlin was concerned since it was blind."

"Ah. So you found the bird, Merlin?"

Merlin met Aredian's critical gaze and nodded.

"Where?"

"In a clearing."

"The bird was just sitting there?"

Merlin kept his eyes linked with Aredian's. "It came to me."

"Did he?" Aredian laced his long fingers together on the table.

"Merlin was trying to feed it," Arthur explained.

"I see. And you tended the bird once it was in the mews?"

Merlin nodded again.

"You are from Essetir?"

Merlin glanced at Arthur, then back to Aredian. "Yes."

"How did you come to Camelot, then?"

"I don't see what this has to do with the matter at hand," Arthur interrupted.

Aredian spoke slowly, "Cenred is no friend of yours, sire."

"Merlin isn't Cenred."

"No." Aredian looked back to Merlin. "Have you ever learned magic?"

"No," Merlin answered swiftly.

"And your mother?"

"No."

"Father?"

"I don't know my father."

Aredian raised his chin and then smiled. "So, Prince Arthur plucked you away from your mother?"

"He saved my life while I was on a mission," Arthur spoke proudly. "I brought him here to look after him."

"So you ran away from home?"

Merlin gulped. "Not exactly."

"Then why did you leave?"

"I...I'm not sure... I just didn't want to stay anymore."

"I've heard you saved Prince Arthur's life more than once. Confronted a sorceress. Nimueh, was it?"

"I just wanted an antidote from her."

"And she gave it willingly?"

"Not right away."

"Why would she give it to a child?"

Merlin shrugged.

Arthur leaned forward. "Merlin has been a loyal servant to the Pendragons. He has served me dutifully, and I owe him my life. He is trusted by all in Camelot."

"Yes, I know,"said Aredian. "Everyone speaks highly of him."

"Do you think his finding your kestrel means he is a sorcerer?" Arthur asked directly.

Aredian tilted his head before answering. "I think he is a child. One that might make a mistake, perhaps seek out magic knowledge out of curiosity."

"I haven't," Merlin swore.

"There is no magic ability in you?"

"No," Merlin spoke as strongly as he could.

Aredian waved his hand. "You may go."

Arthur stood along with Merlin. He placed a hand on his shoulder as they moved to the door. A sudden squawk sounded, and the kestrel left Aredian and fluttered to Merlin, alighting on his shoulder.

Aredian stood. "Forgive him. He has perhaps become attached to the one who has nourished him these last few days." He whistled. The bird didn't move. Merlin lifted his shoulder to encourage it. Aredian whistled again, and it flew back to the witchfinder's arm.

"Sire," Aredian bowed his head to Arthur. Arthur nodded to acknowledge him and left with Merlin.

Aredian ran a hand over Nero's back. "You like the boy, do you? Is he stronger than I?" He raised his arm, and Nero flitted away to the table.

Aredian stared at the door, his mind thrown back years, to a time when he learned magic aside someone who had meant the world to him. "It's not surprising really," he muttered. "He always was strong in magic, and he did love her too much. But if I had known..." Ah, well. If he had known, he would have revealed the truth, and the boy might be dead. It seemed fate had let him live so their paths would cross. All he needed now was one moment alone with Emrys to prove that even prophecy could bend to his will.


	30. Past Is Present

Morgana left the castle, desperate to put her worries behind her. Uther would have been furious at her for leaving without protection, but she didn't want company. To her relief, the stables were empty when she reached them. She set to work saddling and bridling her horse, unafraid of riding alone.

She'd been raised exclusively by her father since the age of two. He hadn't sequestered her away to learn only the tasks of a lady, but instructed her in the ways of soldiers and knights. She truly preferred to do things by herself, but when she'd come to Camelot, Uther had insisted maids attend her. She'd been a grieving ten year old at the time without the will to argue.

Her mind dwelt on her father, the brave and honorable Gorlois who brought her gifts every time he returned home, cuddled her on his lap, and told her stories of the gallant knights of Camelot. She was grateful to Uther for a home and care, but he could never equal her dear father.

"Lady Morgana."

Morgana returned from her reverie, and her throat constricted as she spied the witchfinder's steely eyed gaze not far away from her.

"I did not mean to disturb your thoughts."

 _Can he read thoughts?_ Morgana panicked.

"I came only to inquire into your health."

"My...health?" Morgana asked, trying to do as her father had taught her and maintain a calm air in the face of great emotion.

"You seemed distressed at dinner last night."

"I...have had a sickness not too long ago."

Aredian nodded. "So I hear. And not sleeping well. It must be difficult. Can't Gaius do anything for you?"

Morgana gripped the saddle to keep her hands from shaking. "He's given me drafts. They help." They didn't, but she wasn't going to admit it.

"A beautiful woman should never suffer."

Morgana peered warily at such a description of herself coming from the mouth of this particular man.

"I knew your mother, you see."

"Oh."

"You look quite like her."

"I suppose."

"And your father."

Morgana pulled herself up onto her horse. "If you'll excuse me, I wanted a ride before lunch."

"Of course, my lady." Aredian drew back, and she cantered away from the stables as fast as she could.

* * *

Gaius tracked down Merlin in the armory surrounded by pairs of boots, brushing them. Arthur wasn't too far away, conversing with a couple of his knights. Gaius lowered himself to a bench, looking down at the boy.

Merlin glanced up. "Arthur's trying to keep me busy," he moaned.

Gaius spoke under his breath. "Has Aredian talked to you?"

Merlin nodded. "It's okay, Gaius."

Gaius pursed his lips together in a thin line. "Aredian knows that Emrys has come."

Merlin paused in his brushing. "Emrys. Nimueh called me that."

"It's the name of the warlock of prophecy given by the Druids."

All of the strange looks the Druids had given him when he was with them made sudden sense to Merlin. They must have known he was this Emrys.

"I'm uncertain if Aredian knows you are the one the Druids speak of, but he might have figured it out."

Merlin started to brush again. "He didn't ask about that. He just wanted to know about the kestrel." Merlin laughed shortly. "And he thought I might be a spy for Cenred." At least, that was how Merlin had interpreted his questions.

"Did he ask if you knew magic?"

"Yeah."

Gaius wrung his hands. "I'm worried, Merlin."

Merlin looked to Arthur, then his guardian. "I don't think you need to be."

"It was Nimueh who told me Aredian might know who you are."

Merlin gaped. "Nimueh was here?" His voice rose, and Gaius placed a finger to his lips in warning. "She'll try to kill Arthur," Merlin hissed in a whisper.

"She's not here for that," Gaius assured. "I think she's taken a liking to you. She warned me to help you."

"She likes _me_? She lied to me!"

"She gave you the means to save Arthur."

"A riddle," Merlin scoffed.

"She's been so full of anger and hate for so long. I think you might have pulled her back towards the light."

Merlin concentrated on the boot in his hands. He'd felt sorry for Nimueh. He still did, he guessed, when he thought of her family taken from her. But she hadn't told him the whole truth about Arthur, and she'd attempted to get him to tell Arthur things that would hurt him and Camelot. He didn't think her trustworthy.

"Gaius." Arthur had approached them, finished with the knights.

"My lord." Gaius stood. "I came to check on Merlin."

"Aredian has spoken to him."

"So Merlin informed me."

"All is well."

"Yes, sire. I am glad to hear it."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You don't sound like you believe it."

"I assume Aredian has yet to report to the king."

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. "Even if he does, he has only one thing to say—that Merlin tried to feed his kestrel. Hardly enough to accuse him of sorcery."

"Let us hope, sire."

* * *

Morgana galloped through green fields, relishing the wind whipping through her hair. She hadn't ridden like this in a while, too exhausted of late to force herself onto a horse. She hit the edge of the forest that surrounded the castle and slowed, picking her way through the wood. She'd loved this forest, a place to get lost in and imagine all kinds of stories. She'd dragged Arthur here often when a child and made him take up various roles to please her imaginings. He always grumbled at first, but if she assigned him the character of a knight or warrior he usually gave in and ended up enjoying their playacting.

Except for that one time he'd gone with her when he'd been ordered to stay in the castle. She couldn't remember why he'd been given such a command, but it came from Uther and he should have obeyed. She'd cajoled him and he'd gone with her. They'd both been surprised when a plethora of knights showed up and made them return.

Morgana slowed her horse further, lost in memory. Arthur had taken all the blame, not letting her get a word in edgewise. She'd watched as Uther had him thrashed in front of the court both to punish and embarrass him. She'd never told Arthur, but she'd fled afterward to her chamber and wept into her pillow, so guilty for getting him in trouble.

Uther. Some days she loved him, and some days she came close to hating him. He could be fair and just, and then something would threaten his authority or pride, and he'd strike out. His rage terrified her at those times.

Morgana shook her dark locks, sadness pressing in her chest. She couldn't tell anyone about her dreams because she couldn't trust Uther. She couldn't guarantee he'd listen instead of acting in rash anger. "I must suffer alone," she murmured.

 _Not alone._

Morgana reined in her horse, swinging her head back and forth. "Who's there?" She could have sworn she'd heard a whispering voice.

"You are not alone," the voice spoke loudly.

Morgana turned to see a woman only a few feet away. She gasped and pulled on the horse's reins, moving back several paces. "Who are you?" she demanded with all her noble dignity.

"There are others who suffer as you."

"I don't know what you mean," Morgana returned, unsure what to think of this cloaked woman whose features were buried inside a hood.

"You _see_. What is to come dwells in your mind, and you cannot escape it."

Morgana stared, her fear making it to her eyes.

"It is a rare gift."

"You're a sorceress," Morgana breathed out.

The woman suddenly crossed the distance and gripped one of her hands. Now Morgana saw her piercing blue eyes. "Be who you are, Morgana Pendragon!"

Morgana wrenched her hand out of the woman's grasp. "I'm not a Pendragon," she protested.

The woman smiled. "You have the mind of a high priestess and the heart of a Pendragon. Embrace them and set your power free."

Morgana backed away again. "Leave me alone."

"You cannot run from who you are. You are the beginning of a new day and Uther's doom."

Morgana's eyes widened, and she turned, galloping back towards the castle.

"His death will be on your hands!" the woman shrieked behind her.

* * *

Uther paused his council's reports when Aredian stepped into the smaller hall reserved for kingly business. He stood, meeting the witchfinder's steady gaze. "Everyone out," he ordered. They obeyed, and he was left alone with Aredian. He felt uneasy, though he didn't let it show; years of being king had taught him how to hide himself effectively. But the fact remained he knew his feelings even if others didn't.

"Have you anything to report?" Uther asked, standing with his hand resting on the back of his throne.

Aredian strode up to him and bowed. "I have made inquiries, and I believe I have found the sorcerer."

Uther clutched the back of the throne. "So there is a sorcerer here."

"There is more than that, sire."

Uther stared. "Is Arthur in danger?"

"I believe so."

"Tell me."

Aredian tilted his head and smiled. "First, I have a question, my lord. Why did you seek me?"

Uther moved away from his throne, pacing with his hands behind his back. "You know because magic has infiltrated our capital."

"But why call me here? Don't you despise me?"

Uther turned, his voice sharp, unused to being challenged by those in his service. "You are becoming insolent, Aredian."

"I do not mean to be, my lord, but I need to know how far you are willing to let me take this."

Uther firmed his jaw. "As far as is needed to protect my son."

Aredian grinned. "You see, my king, magic pervades the heart of Camelot, and I am not certain you have the courage to see it removed."

Uther's anger flared. "You question my courage?"

"You've let magic have its way. How can I not?"

Uther flew at the witchfinder. Aredian didn't flinch as Uther raised a fist; he simply stared him down with his crystalline eyes. Uther lowered his hand. "How dare you."

"I challenge you, my lord, to possess the bravery it takes to wipe this castle clean."

Uther withdrew, striding backwards, staring at a man he'd once let have free rein in his capital. Until the complaints mounted. Until he could no longer ignore the people who knelt in front of his throne, grieving lost loved ones whose connection to magic had been tentative at best. Until he had attended one of Aredian's sessions himself and observed his brutal ways used on the man who had been his closest friend before the Purge. The screams and agony still haunted him on his weakest nights.

"And how is my castle infected?" Uther spoke, forcing himself to calm.

"Your physician."

"Gaius?"

"He was committed to magic once."

"Once. No more."

"Are you certain?"

"I am."

"I am not."

Uther stared out a window. "Have you found evidence?"

"He's been harboring the sorcerer."

Uther turned. "Who?"

"The boy Merlin."

Uther raised his eyebrows, smiled, and laughed. "This sorcerer so powerful you can't see him is a servant boy?" He laughed louder.

Aredian glared. "Do not underestimate the power of magic."

Uther patted his chest and cleared his throat. "And what proof do you have?"

"Nero came to him in a clearing."

"And?"

"And the boy had been tending him in the mews before I arrived."

Uther cocked his head. "Is this all?"

"What more is needed? Nero has revealed it to me."

"More than that."

"I will have more when I question the boy further. I have come to ask for his arrest."

A man chained to a wall, dripping blood, drenched in sweat rose in Uther's mind. "This boy has saved Arthur's life. Why would he harm him?"

"You know sorcery, my lord. It uses kindness to deceive."

Uther rubbed at his temple. Like the Druids, roaming his lands pretending innocence. Yet they had caught more than one whose designs were assassination. His war on them was of their own making.

The door to the hall opened and Uther faced it, grateful for an interruption to the conversation. Arthur entered, glancing at Aredian, then to him.

"Arthur."

"Father."

"What do you need?"

"I came to hear our guest's report."

Uther drew in a long breath. This would only complicate matters further. "You don't need to concern yourself with this."

"I do, father."

"Obey me and leave."

Arthur swallowed and stood straighter. "I believe this man will accuse my servant boy of sorcery."

Uther felt a bit of pride in his son who had read the situation so accurately. "He already has."

Anger flashed across Arthur's face. "Merlin is no sorcerer. He has been in my service for over a year, and I guarantee he has no magic."

"Even you admit his interaction with Nero!" Aredian snapped.

"The kestrel was blind, and Merlin tried to feed it a mouse. There is nothing in that to suggest sorcery."

Uther eyed Aredian. "You didn't mention the boy was trying to feed your bird."

"Inconsequential," Aredian protested. "There is magic in this boy, have no doubt. The prince is in danger."

Arthur laughed shortly. "From Merlin? A boy so softhearted he tears up if I even shout at him?"

"An act."

Arthur threw a hand up in the air. "Merlin kept me from being crushed in battle, tried to drink poison in my place, and confronted a sorceress on my behalf. If he wanted me dead, he could have left well enough alone, don't you think? Father, Merlin is harmless. I give you my word."

Uther looked between his son and Aredian. He left his gaze on the witchfinder. "If you think the boy is a sorcerer, you will need more evidence than you have brought me."

"Then let me get it, my lord!" Aredian shouted, eyes bulging. "Order the boy to the dungeons and you will have your proof!"

"The dungeons?" Arthur questioned. "To torture him into a confession?" Arthur stepped closer to the witchfinder in a threatening manner.

"Arthur," Uther spoke quietly.

"If you order Merlin to the dungeon, then you send me also."

"Your servant boy..."

"I won't leave him in the hands of this man!" Arthur shouted. He met his father's eyes. "I know you think Merlin is just a servant, but he has shown loyalty beyond any servant I have ever had, and I will not reward his faithfulness with doubt and torture!"

Uther turned back to the window, seeing himself in the dungeons cradling the head of a dying man, and hearing words from the past. _Kill me, Uther, but spare her. She's done nothing._

"It you dismiss me, magic will infect this kingdom and bring it to its knees," Aredian swore. "Your physician bides his time. This servant boy manipulates him. Magic dwells underneath this castle, waiting for a moment to strike back."

Uther narrowed his eyes. He hated to remember the dragon chained below. Aredian cautioned him years ago not to capture the dragon. He hadn't listened.

"And you ignore the magic sitting at your very table and eating the food from your hand!"

Uther twirled around, rage on his face. "Get out."

Aredian stared him down. "You know it's true."

"She has nothing to do with this."

Arthur glanced between his father and the witchfinder. "Who?"

"Admit it," Aredian pressed. "She echoes more than the appearance of the one who bore her."

"If you wish to live, you will leave now," Uther growled, stepping towards the witchfinder.

Aredian scoffed. "Then fate be on your own head, Uther Pendragon. Your ignorance will be the death of your kingdom."

"Guards!" Uther cried out.

The door swung open.

"Get this man out of my sight, and if he is not gone within the hour, kill him."

"You will regret this!" Aredian cried out as the guards grasped his upper arms and dragged him out of the hall. The door shut behind them.

Uther stumbled to his throne and slumped into it.

"Father?" Arthur asked in concern.

"It was a mistake to seek him out," Uther mumbled.

Arthur privately agreed, but he was unused his father displaying a lack of confidence. "You were only trying to protect our people."

"Hm," Uther intoned, a hand rubbing at his chin, his mind on his ward. She'd never demonstrated any of Vivienne's gifts. Aredian was wrong.

"Are you alright?"

Uther heard again a man's echoing scream. He looked up at his son who had vowed to go to the dungeon with his servant. "You're a better man than I," he whispered.

Arthur cocked his head, shock registering on his features. "Father?"

"I...don't praise you enough. I am proud of you."

Arthur blinked, unsure of his father's sudden flattery.

"You may go."

Arthur moved to the door, leaving Uther alone with his thoughts and regrets.

* * *

By the time Arthur returned to his chambers, dinner had been delivered, and Merlin's face was buried in a plate.

"Are you always this ravenous?" Arthur asked.

"You made me work all day!" Merlin replied.

"It's good for you," Arthur said as moved to his washstand, splashing water on his face and neck, then drying with a cloth, still a bit disturbed by his father's strange actions. He sat down at the table, contemplating his empty plate. "You're safe, Merlin."

Merlin looked over at him.

"Aredian is leaving. My father has dismissed him."

Merlin's face fell. "Oh."

" _Oh_? You _want_ him to stay?"

"No, but, er..."

"What?"

"It's just...I'll have to go back to Gaius."

Arthur laughed. "You'll miss the food, eh?"

"Yeah." Merlin popped a grape into his mouth. Not really. The food was good and all, but even though he complained, it had been kind of fun following Arthur around all day.

A light knock sounded on the door. "Come in," Arthur called. The door opened to reveal Gwen.

"Oh. Merlin," she said, seeing the servant boy. "Sire, I just wanted to bring you this. I meant to yesterday." She held out a blue shirt.

"Ah. Yes." Arthur eyed Merlin. "Don't worry. Merlin was just leaving."

Merlin raised his eyebrows. Arthur dumped more food on his plate and placed it in his hands. "Er, yeah." Merlin stood. He made his way to the door. "My bag."

"Come back for it later," Arthur said, nodding his head to the door pointedly.

Merlin sighed and left. Gwen laid the shirt over a chair. "Why was Merlin eating your food?"

"Long story."

Gwen smiled. "Then tell it to me."

Arthur grinned. "Let me serve you, my lady."

Gwen flushed as she sat in her usual seat at the other end of the table. He'd taken to calling her that, but it was so very inappropriate and yet he insisted. He set the plate in front of her, and let his hand brush across her fingers as he withdrew.

* * *

Merlin meandered down several hallways, receiving strange looks as he helped himself to a plate clearly full of royal food. He smiled to himself. For all Gaius' fretting, nothing had come of the ado about the witchfinder. Everything was already getting back to normal. Arthur wasn't worrying anymore, Gwen was eating with him, and tomorrow Gaius would insist herbs didn't pick themselves as he always did.

Merlin paused in his eating. Maybe he should save some for Gaius. After all, the physician had fretted over him so. It was the least he could do.

Merlin reached the spiral staircase. He traipsed up it, a spring in his step. He had just reached the top when something jabbed into his neck. The plate dropped from his hands, clattering across the floor, spilling its contents. He went to his knees, then pitched over onto his back. The hallway was fast becoming blurry. The witchfinder filled his vision.

"What you have is mine," the balding man snarled.

Merlin fell into darkness.


	31. Missing

Morgana hurried to her chambers, the words of the woman in the woods ringing in her ears: _You_ see _. What is to come dwells in your mind, and you cannot escape it._ She couldn't deny it, but Morgana had wanted to with all her heart and soul. Neither her father nor her mother had magic. No one had taught her. It couldn't be, but it _was_.

Morgana ran a hand over her eyes. _You have the mind of a high priestess and the heart of a Pendragon._ What did that even mean? Who did this woman think she was? _You are the beginning of a new day and Uther's doom._ Morgana clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. Maybe the sorceress was just trying to scare her. They did things like that, right? The ones that hated Uther anyway.

Morgana flung the door to her chambers open and would have buried herself in the safety of her bedsheets if she hadn't beheld a man lounging in a chair, back against one armrest, feet dangling over the other, a lute in his hands. He began to croon some silly song about her beauty and wisdom, but he hadn't gotten too far when his voice died in his throat. He stopped strumming and stood, moving towards her.

"Morgana," Lancelot breathed out, taking her trembling shoulders. "What is it?"

Morgana pressed into him, fighting back tears. "Hold me."

He gathered her in his arms, resting his head on top of hers, running his hands in circles over her back. "What has happened?"

"I...can't tell you."

"You can tell me anything."

"Not this."

Lancelot gently pushed her back, leaning down to peer into her green depths. "My heart and soul are yours and always will be. Nothing you say can shake me."

Morgana stared, a part of her screaming just to tell him the truth once and for all, then a vision of herself kneeling in front of a block chased the impulse away. Morgana pulled out of his grip. "I just went for a ride. I've been tired."

Lancelot followed her frantic pacing. "Your dreams."

Morgana turned swiftly to him. "No. I haven't been dreaming as much lately."

Lancelot stared dubiously.

"Really. I've been better."

Lancelot wouldn't be persuaded. "What did you see in your dreams?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me," he whispered, stepping close to her once more.

"It wasn't my dreams this time, just a woman in the woods."

Lancelot narrowed his eyes.

"It's true. She told me things...awful things...I think she was a sorceress."

Lancelot's brow furrowed. "So near the castle?"

Morgana nodded.

"We need to tell the king."

"No!"

Lancelot cocked his head. "She could be after him or Arthur or even you."

"I...don't think so."

"But you don't know."

"No, but..."

"I have to tell the king."

"Lancelot..." Morgana fought with herself, the truth on the tip of her tongue when the castle bells began to peal.

* * *

Arthur had just risen from the table, sauntering towards Gwen, thinking for once to break protocol before she went back to her duties, maybe pull her close and embrace her, when the alarm bells sounded. He jerked his head to the window and turned, crossing the room in seconds to strap on his sword.

Gwen rose from the table, concern gracing her features. "An attack?"

"I don't know." He stepped back over to her and took her hand. "Come with me." If it was an attack, he couldn't think of any better place for Gwen than by his side.

He let her go when they exited into the hallway, but she kept pace next to him until they reached the council room where he would find out what was going on. He opened the door to behold all relevant council members and knights gathering. Gwen didn't follow, and he glanced back at her.

"It's not my place," she explained.

Arthur sighed. He wanted her next to him now more than ever, but she was right.

"Arthur!"

Lancelot was winging towards him from the other end of the hallway along with Morgana. The ward stepped up to her maidservant, a question in her eyes. Gwen shook her head to indicate she was in the dark concerning the bells.

Arthur grabbed Lancelot by the shoulder and directed him into the room. The knight didn't really have the status for the gathering, but Arthur didn't care. Lancelot was his friend, a good knight, and if he wanted him there, he had every right to bring him.

A red faced Uther gesticulated in front of his throne. "I want every inch of this castle searched, the lower town, and the land within five miles."

"Father," Arthur called.

Uther's eyes met his, and Arthur startled to see the anger briefly dissolve into fear. The king looked back at the knights he had been addressing. "Assign the guards and knights as needed. Go."

The knights bowed and exited. Lancelot began to pull away. "I might be needed." Arthur gripped his arm to keep him near.

"Father, what's happened?"

Uther growled. "Aredian has escaped."

Arthur tilted his head in confusion. "Escaped? You ordered him away anyway."

"His guards were found unconscious and wounded."

Arthur raised his chin, now understanding. "Why would he attack them?"

Uther shook his head, unsure. "The last time he left..." his voice faded.

"The last time?"

Uther paced away, his chest constricting. The last time he'd allowed the witchfinder time to gather his things, including any tools in the dungeon. As king he could have just ordered him to depart without them, but Uther had thought such a thing would reflect badly on himself. After all, he'd been the one to let Aredian run pell mell around his capital. After Aredian left, he'd called Gaius and gone down into the dungeons, hoping it wouldn't be too late to save the man who had been hanging on by a thread. He could never forget finding him limp, head lolling against a chest that didn't rise and fall. Cold ice had shot through Uther's veins, and he suddenly hadn't cared if Gorlois had betrayed him by practicing magic.

Uther whirled on his heel. "Arthur, I order you to stay here. You are not to join the search."

"Father..."

"Go to Morgana. I want her to stay in her room. Do you understand?"

"I don't. Why do you think he might come after us?"

"I want you to obey me!"

Arthur bowed his head. He had no reason not to. "I will, but..."

"Go now."

"Yes, father."

Arthur turned, trailed by Lancelot. Morgana had lingered outside the door with Gwen. "What is going on?" she demanded.

"Father ordered the witchfinder to leave,"—Morgana's expression relaxed at such news—"but he attacked his guards and escaped"—fear replaced her relief.

"W-Why?" Morgana stammered.

"Who knows?" Arthur murmured. What did he gain by it? Had his pride been wounded at being escorted by guards? Probably, but that was hardly a reason to attack them. His father seemed to think he or Morgana might be a target, but Arthur thought that unlikely as well. Arthur's eyes widened. He sprinted down the hall.

"Arthur?" He heard Lancelot coming behind him, and by the sound of it, Morgana and Gwen as well.

How could he have been so stupid? Who had the witchfinder accused? Who had Uther refused to let him torture?

"Arthur!"

Arthur didn't stop until he almost tripped at the top of the spiral staircase that led to Gaius' chambers. He crouched down and picked up the plate he'd given Merlin when he'd left his room. He glanced at the food strewn haphazardly about.

"Arthur, what is it?" Lancelot panted.

Arthur rose, rushing down the hall and throwing Gaius' chamber door open. The physician wasn't there. Probably attending the guards that had been attacked. "Merlin!" he shouted. He dashed to Merlin's room, slamming his bedroom door open as well. The room was small enough his eyes scanned it in seconds. He turned and ran back the way he had come.

Lancelot stopped him, grabbing his arm. "Arthur."

"Merlin's not here."

"Arthur, tell me what is going on."

"My father called this man here, a witchfinder."

Lancelot creased his brow.

"A man that finds sorcerers. He accused Merlin."

Lancelot's face paled.

"He tried to convince my father to let him torture the truth out of him."

"Do you think Merlin..."

"I told him Merlin wasn't a sorcerer, but he wouldn't believe it, and he and my father argued, and he was ordered to leave."

Lancelot sighed inwardly. He'd actually been about to ask if Arthur thought Merlin had magic.

Morgana gasped from the doorway. Arthur looked over at her and a pale-faced Gwen.

"You think he has Merlin?" Lancelot asked.

Arthur moved to the door, pushing past Morgana and Gwen. "I know he does."

* * *

Arthur found Gaius in a stairwell, directing the recovery of the guards who seemed to be alive. He caught the physician's arm, spinning him around.

"Did Merlin return from my chambers after lunch?"

Gaius' right eyebrow rose. "I haven't seen him, sire."

Arthur's hand tightened on his arm. "Aredian accused him of sorcery."

Gaius' eyes clouded. "Merlin has run away."

Arthur shook his head. "My father ordered Aredian to leave."

Gaius looked surprised.

"He wanted to torture Merlin. Gaius, Merlin is missing."

Gaius clenched his jaw, remembering the last time Aredian had been dismissed. He'd stood next to Uther as the king wailed over the body of his closest friend. He cursed himself inside. He should have stuck next to Merlin the whole time Aredian was here.

* * *

Aredian dropped his burden from his back to a dirt floor. He couldn't be certain how long it would take Uther to realize he'd been thwarted. He smiled to himself, glancing around the dimly lit room. Uther had never known this existed. All through the Purge, this hideaway had remained secret. Aredian recalled how he'd learned of it. They had trusted him back then, thinking him one of them. How many had he discovered and captured here? His esteem in Uther's eyes had risen that day.

Aredian's face fell. Until the king's cowardly nature revealed itself. He didn't have the resolve Aredian thought he had. He'd felt for that traitor Gorlois. Aredian glared into the dark. Gorlois, who had spoken against him. It hadn't been difficult then to accuse the man of magic. After all, he'd chosen a seer as a wife, and Uther lashed out against any hint of magic in those days. It had been simple to make the accusation and let its effects play out.

Aredian knelt next to the figure crumpled on the floor. He snickered. The great Emrys, a child easily defeated. What had destiny been thinking? He chuckled. Balinor had believed so strongly in the prophecy. Had he known his own son would bear the Druids' assumptions? Certainly not or he wouldn't have done the things he did.

Aredian rubbed at his chin, thinking of their last encounter. Kilgharrah had wanted to burn him alive, but Balinor wouldn't let him. Peace, Balinor claimed, was the goal—the end of the cleansing of Camelot and its uniting. How foolish he'd been. He'd done nothing but saddle Camelot with perpetual doom in the form of the dragon. Aredian scowled in the dark. And of course, Uther had ignored his letter of warning.

Aredian grasped the boy's dark hair, turning his head back and forth to run his eyes over his features. His father was reflected there. He wondered that Uther hadn't seen the resemblance, but then, Uther hadn't known Balinor as a child as he had.

Aredian unslung the bags he'd been carrying. He opened one, withdrawing a coiled silver chain. It wouldn't do to have the boy waking up and trying to use magic. The time would come, but he needed to be ready before that happened. He sighed as he went to work. If only he could take what he wanted when the boy was asleep. It would be so much easier.

* * *

"He has Merlin!" Arthur declared when he reached the council room for the second time.

"The servant boy?" Uther asked.

"I can't find him, and a plate I'd given him was discarded near Gaius' rooms."

"Perhaps the boy is..."

"He _has_ Merlin."

Uther pressed his lips into a thin line. It did make sense. "The knights will hunt down Aredian."

"I'm going to help." Arthur turned on his heel, but his father's shouting turned him back.

"No, Arthur! You will stay as I ordered."

"He's _my_ servant!" Arthur shouted back.

Uther's face grew angry as council members looked askance at the prince. He stepped close to Arthur, a hand on his back. "I know you feel you owe this boy," he whispered harshly, "but he is a servant. He is not the heir to the throne. It is my duty to protect _you_."

"Merlin is more than a servant," Arthur argued back before he thought his words through.

Uther glowered. "I've admired your loyalty to the boy I put in your charge, but he _is_ only a servant no matter what he has done. Whether you like it or not, Arthur, you are the future king, and your safety comes before anyone else's. You will stay here and with Morgana as I commanded. Do not defy me on this."

"He could torture Merlin to death," Arthur muttered.

"He can't have gotten far, especially if he has the boy with him. I will call for you when the knights return."

Arthur didn't answer. He was kicking himself for making Merlin leave his chambers before he assured Aredian had left Camelot. If the boy died... His breath hitched. Merlin couldn't die. He wouldn't.

"Arthur," Uther spoke, moving his hand to squeeze his son's shoulder. "I understand your feeling. Yet a king must trust the people in his service. This is a time for you to be protected, and let the knights do what they have been trained to do. Take Morgana to her room and protect her until I call for you."

Arthur stared into his father's sympathetic gaze and slowly nodded.

* * *

Merlin groaned. His neck burned and his head swam. He blinked slowly, but his vision remained dark. He breathed deeply, then coughed. A musty smell invaded his nose, like damp earth. He turned his head back and forth until he sighted several candles melted to a stand several feet to his left. Where was he?

Merlin yawned, then tried to stretch, but found his arms immobile. He made to sit up, but his legs were stiff. He lay still a moment longer. He recalled something being stabbed into his neck. Had it done this to him?

Merlin glanced down. Silver glinted along his form in crisscrossing lines. He squinted. They were chains. Someone had chained him. Merlin glanced every which way. "Hello?" His voice was hoarse. He cleared it and tried again. "Hello?"

No one. He was alone. He swallowed, took another deep breath, and his eyes glowed gold. He gasped. The chains had tightened. He blinked. What— He focused, thinking of a spell to voice, reciting it from the grimoire. " _Abricaþ benda_...Ahhhh!" The chains tightened once more, now digging into his flesh. He focused on breathing.

Fear blossomed in Merlin's mind. Someone had brought him here and chained him up. Who? Why? It didn't take him long to guess it could only be Aredian. Merlin's limbs began to shake as he searched for a way out of his predicament. His eyes fell onto a clutter of objects he hadn't noticed yet—several metal instruments laid out on a sheet not far from him. He didn't recognize any of them. Were they for...torture?

Merlin couldn't help himself. His eyes glowed once more. The chains contracted a third time, and Merlin yelped. He didn't dare try again.

He heard a flapping sound, and something prickled in his hair. It moved down and over his face to rest on his chin. He found himself staring up at the kestrel. "Y-you," he managed, his heart pounding at the confirmation he was in the hands of the witchfinder. The kestrel hopped down to his chest and grasped at the chains with its beak.

Merlin stared. Did it understand his trouble? Did it care? It began to peck at the chains, seemingly to Merlin in frustration. Merlin echoed the bird's feelings. He couldn't use his magic. He'd never felt so helpless, nor so afraid.

"Argh!" he screamed aloud. If he was supposed to be some amazingly potent sorcerer, why did his power abandon him when he needed it most? The kestrel fluttered away from him to the candles.

 _Merlin. Where are you?_

"Kilgharrah!" Merlin shouted aloud.

 _Where?_

"I don't know, but the witchfinder has me."

 _He's there?_

"Not now. What do I do?"

 _I cannot see you._

Merlin felt a tear escape down his cheek. He sniffed. Crying wouldn't help anything. Isn't that what Arthur always said?

The kestrel toddled over to him again, jerking its head back and forth. It jumped to his forehead and bent down, knocking its head against him.

A creaking sounded far away, as a door opening. Merlin closed his eyes, hearing the bird flap away. He tried to calm his heartbeat, praying the witchfinder would think him still unconscious.

"Nero! Nero!" he heard Aredian's voice shout. "Confound that bird!" Something clanged. Steps strode into the room. Aredian continued to grumble, but abruptly stopped. Merlin felt a tug at a chain on his side.

"You tried to escape, eh? Useless, wasn't it?"

Merlin laid completely still. He flinched when a light slap smacked his cheek.

"I know you're awake."

Merlin opened his eyes, his chest straining against the chains as he panicked. "Please let me go."

"All in good time, my little Emrys." Aredian grinned.


	32. The Weight of Prophecy

"Arthur! You're making me dizzy," Morgana snapped. "Sit down."

Arthur paused in his pacing. "How long has it been?" he demanded.

"Close to an hour." She massaged her brow, fighting exhaustion.

"It's too long!" Arthur declared.

"They'll find Merlin," Gwen spoke quietly from her seat next to Morgana, her tone attempting to encourage, but her eyes reflecting the opposite.

Arthur resumed his pacing, raking his hands through his hair, hating this enforced inaction. Morgana wasn't Aredian's target. _He_ wasn't Aredian's target. Merlin _was_. "I have to find him," Arthur grumbled, heading to the door.

"Lancelot said he'd be back when he could tell us something," Morgana reminded.

Arthur turned on her. "Do you even care about Merlin? You've just been sitting there as if he means nothing to you!"

Morgana stood, her eyes piercing the prince. "I care as deeply as you, Arthur Pendragon! But I don't see what we can accomplish against this witchfinder that the knights can't."

Arthur waved his hands dismissively. "I never thought you'd act exactly like father!"

Morgana's cheeks flushed. "I'm nothing like Uther."

"You're as stubborn and bullheaded!"

Morgana rushed at him, but Gwen leaped between them. "Stop it! Both of you! Arguing with each other doesn't help anything."

Arthur shook his head angrily and braced himself with one hand against a wall. Morgana returned to her seat, twisting her hands in agitation. She cared about Merlin, but she didn't lack self-preservation. As long as she stayed with Arthur and Gwen, she'd be able to fight off the witchfinder if he came for her.

"He could be torturing Merlin right now," Arthur mumbled.

Morgana stared at him. Arthur had grown so close to Merlin. They were more like brothers than master and servant. It was sweet really, and Arthur had changed so since Merlin's arrival. The boy had disarmed the walls Arthur had built around himself; walls of status and arrogance and perhaps the fear of letting someone get too close.

In truth, Merlin had been good for her, too. His carefree way had been the breath of fresh air she needed in a stagnant castle. She always loved to see him walk through her door. She thought back to Ealdor, how they had thrown caution to the wind to make sure Merlin was safe. She frowned. Arthur was right. Merlin was unfairly suffering in her place. _She_ had magic, not him.

Morgana rose from her seat observed by a cautious Gwen as she approached Arthur. She grasped his free hand. "I'm sorry."

Arthur met her compassionate gaze and his stomach flipped. The corners of his eyes prickled. He pushed away from the wall, coughing and retreating. It was weakness to cry for any man, let alone a servant boy.

The door opened. Arthur twirled around to behold Lancelot. "What news?"

Lancelot's expression was grim. "Aredian was seen on a horse, leaving by the east gate. We tracked as far as we could, but the tracks disappeared."

"Was Merlin with him?"

"A large sack capable of holding a boy was draped over the back of his horse."

Arthur clenched his jaw.

"Your father has established patrols to keep on the look out, but he's called most of the knights back."

Arthur scowled, pushing past Lancelot and dashing down the corridor.

* * *

When Arthur reached the king's council chamber, he heard a raised voice. He slowed to listen.

"The boy is in danger, Uther," Gaius' insistent voice drifted through the closed door.

"I am aware, Gaius."

"Sire, I don't mean to bring up the past..."

"Do not break your vow to me," Uther growled.

There was a pause. "I have never spoken a word. I _am_ loyal."

"Yes. You are. I know." Uther's tone was softer.

"I only mention it to remind you what Aredian can do."

"I don't need a reminder," Uther insisted.

"Then you must find the boy."

"He's not a noble. Not like..." Uther's excuse died in his throat. "What matters now is Aredian is gone."

"And if Merlin is lost?"

"I am sorry, Gaius, but we must prepare to accept sacrificing the boy for the safety of this castle."

"Perhaps if you looked..."

Gaius was interrupted as the door slammed open, and Arthur stalked towards his father. Uther looked as if he'd been caught stealing sweet rolls from the kitchen. "Arthur."

"What king lets a child die to protect himself?" Arthur planted his hands on his hips, eyes wild in anger.

"To protect you and Morgana," Uther amended.

"From what?"

"You don't know Aredian's power," Uther warned.

"I don't care about his power," Arthur declared. "My servant is at the mercy of that man!"

"Exactly. He is a servant," Uther said, standing from is throne. His sharp eyes nailed Gaius, then Arthur. "All of you forget his place."

"Father..."

Uther's finger jabbed his direction. "People die for their king. This is the truth, Arthur. The boy has saved you, and he does so again."

"But he didn't choose this!" Arthur protested.

"And yet he keeps the witchfinder from taking his revenge on us. Honor him for that."

"I won't let him die," Arthur growled, turning on his heel back towards the door.

"Guards!" Uther cried out. Two appeared at the entrance to the room. "Escort the prince to his chamber and make sure he stays there."

Arthur whirled around. "You can't confine me!"

"It's for your good," Uther said. "See to it," he addressed the guards.

The guards gripped Arthur's arms, pulling him from the room.

"My lord..." Gaius began.

"Leave me, Gaius," Uther muttered, wandering back to his throne and slumping down in defeat.

* * *

Merlin hadn't spoken another word since the witchfinder returned. The man had situated himself next to the cloth with the metal objects and began fiddling with them. Merlin had stiffened, expecting Aredian to use them on him, but the man had ignored him completely. He'd begun connecting the objects to each other.

Merlin couldn't figure out what Aredian was constructing. He was still scared, but the intensity had lessened somewhat over time. Aredian had begun to grumble. Apparently one of the pieces of his strange metal puzzle wasn't fitting right. He dropped it and rubbed at his forehead. He glanced up at Merlin who wanted to shrink away from the unnerving crystal gaze. He looked determined again and went back to work.

Merlin gathered his courage. "What is it?"

Aredian didn't answer.

"Are you going to hurt me?"

"If you don't resist, it won't hurt at all," Aredian murmured as the piece finally fit and he smiled.

Merlin thought of claiming he didn't have magic, but the tightening of the chains had already given him away. "I try not to hurt anyone."

"Hm?"

"I don't use my magic to do anything bad."

Aredian snorted, still not looking at him. "You even sound like him."

"Who?"

Aredian glanced up again, and Merlin wished he wouldn't. It was so much easier to address him when the witchfinder wasn't looking at him. "Your father."

Merlin's eyes grew round. "My father?"

"Perhaps you can confirm that fact for me. Who is your mother?"

Merlin desired more than anything to know about his father, but not at the expense of his mother. He bit down on his lips.

Aredian rolled his eyes. "I don't care about your mother. Fine. I'll tell you. Hunith of Ealdor in Cenred's kingdom."

Merlin's eyes grew rounder still, and Aredian chuckled, turning back to his objects. "I assume she still lives there. You probably grew up in that tiny, godforsaken village. How would you feel to know I spent time in Hunith's house?"

"You knew my mother."

"In passing. I didn't care about her like Balinor did."

Merlin spoke the name softly. "Balinor."

"Your father. You look like him."

Merlin went quiet. He looked like his father, and his father had a name: Balinor. "Where is he?" Merlin's voice was barely audible.

Aredian shrugged. "I haven't seen him since Kilgharrah's capture."

Merlin's head spun. "You were there when Kilgharrah was captured?"

"I should have been," Aredian scoffed.

There was silence for a time, then Merlin ventured another question. "Can you tell me about my father?"

Aredian grunted. "There's nothing worth knowing except that he must have given you magic."

So what he had thought was true. "He had magic."

Aredian grinned. "Enough it seems to make you. But he didn't know he made you so I could take every last drop."

Merlin's blood ran cold.

"Balinor owes me. Your magic will do nicely."

* * *

Kilgharrah listened. Aredian's voice grated on his ears. He'd never wanted to hear it again. _Your magic will do nicely._ Kilgharrah rose up on his haunches and pulled on the chain tethered to his ankle. Merlin needed him, but what good would escaping do? He couldn't even see him. Curse Aredian!

Shouts funneled through the stony tunnel that led to his cavern. Guards, he guessed. He heard them when they came close, though none ventured down the tunnel. He wasn't sure how many even knew he existed. He'd gotten the impression he'd been chained up and left to die. They didn't even feed him. Did Uther know his kind could live for more than a century without eating? Water on the other hand...

Kilgharrah stretched his neck, peering at an exit far above him. On rainy days, he sat with his mouth open, grateful for the precious liquid. He'd never come near death. If he had, he might have attempted to leave, but the prophecy bound him.

The prophecy. He had known Emrys the moment he blossomed into existence. His conception rocked the magic of the world. He wondered that only he had felt it, but then, dragons were quite sensitive to any little change in magical properties.

He hadn't told Balinor. He'd convinced himself it was to protect the child, but in truth he hadn't the heart to break Balinor's views. The man hoped so much for the unification of Camelot and had applied the prophecy to himself. Such an interpretation had been dashed when they'd been captured and Balinor had fled. Balinor was not the man to bring peace; it was his son.

Kilgharrah spewed out smoke. And that son was in danger. He could perhaps search for Merlin, but Aredian was clever. He would have taken every precaution.

A rustling came from the tunnel. Kilgharrah stared at it. Did Gaius come for his aid? If so, he had none to give. He startled when a small creature zipped out headed right for him. He ducked. It missed his head by an inch, then circled back around. This time it barreled straight for a stone wall. Kilgharrah raised a paw, and the creature careened into it. He enclosed it within his claws, then set it on the rocky ledge usually occupied by Merlin.

"You are the witchfinder's."

The kestrel hopped about, screeching. Kilgharrah's eyes burned brightly. Aredian hadn't known he raised a traitor. Kilgharrah contemplated his chain. Foolish Uther. Who had told him silver chains confined dragons? And yet, Kilgharrah had allowed it, wanting Uther to believe everything he did kept him here.

Kilgharrah closed his eyes. His heart flamed hot within him; his scales tingled. His eyes flashed a brilliant yellow that lit the cavern. A rush of fire consumed the chain, melting it within seconds. Kilgharrah shook his ankle, free once again. He looked to the kestrel.

"Take me to Merlin," he commanded.

* * *

Gaius passed guards laughing and teasing each other. "Gaius! Who do you come to visit?"

He ignored them, striding as fast as he could to the long tunnel that led to the dragon. He pulled a torch from the wall as he went. Kilgharrah was his only hope. The dragon could tell him where Merlin was. He would have come earlier, but he'd had the wounded guards to tend to and the king's summons.

"Kilgharrah!" he shouted before he even entered the cavern. He exited to the ledge and blinked in confusion. A pool of silver covered the dragon's usual perch. "Kilgharrah," Gaius whispered. What had the dragon been thinking? Had he forgotten who Aredian was?

Gaius moved back to the tunnel, his mind in turmoil. Merlin's hope had just dwindled to nothing. Gaius paused. No. Not nothing. He still drew breath. The physician ran as fast as his aching legs would carry him.

* * *

Arthur had done his best to resist the men that hauled him to his chambers. Unfortunately, his father had chosen the strongest, most muscular guards for the castle, and all his pushing and shoving didn't avail him. He was unceremoniously chucked into his room, and he didn't hear the guards retreat, taking up their post as commanded.

He spent the first few minutes of his captivity cursing in a very un-princely manner. He tried to respect his father, to be the son he desired. He followed his orders, listened to his wisdom, submitted most of the time. But taking Merlin in his charge had upset everything. His father didn't understand. He _had_ to take care of the boy. If anything happened to Merlin, it would be _his_ fault. It was just like...just like...

Arthur slouched onto his bed. _Like my father feels about me._ He leaned over, elbows on his knees. Uther would blame himself if his son came to harm. Arthur pressed his palms together. Okay. He got it, but still, he wasn't a child. He wasn't even a youth. He was a grown man, young, but an adult. He didn't need his father keeping him safe anymore. He could take care of himself. And he certainly didn't deserve being shut up in his room like an errant boy.

He was just contemplating how to actually help Merlin when a series of clatters clashed against his window. He stood up. Before he even reached the window, the scattering repeated. He unclasped the latch and pushed it open.

"Arthur!" a voice called.

He looked down. Lancelot gestured below next to a wagon full of hay. "Lancelot?"

"Jump."

"What?"

"Jump."

"It's quite a distance."

"How else are you going to get out of your room?"

Arthur scrutinized the wagon. It would probably catch him just fine. He glanced back at the door. He couldn't guarantee he'd win a fight with the guards, and he really didn't want to hurt those loyal to the crown. He stepped out onto the window ledge, sucked in a preparatory breath, and jumped.

For a few frightening seconds his heart sailed into his throat. He hit the hay, sinking down, and luckily avoided slamming into the wagon's bottom. He stared up at Lancelot who leaned over him.

"All good?"

"Yeah," Arthur breathed out.

"Come on." Lancelot took him by the arm, helping him out of the wagon. "Morgana and Gwen are waiting for us at the stables."

"No. Not Gwen."

"Arthur..."

"I'm not letting her anywhere near Aredian."

"Then good luck convincing her. I already tried to get both of them to let us take care of this, but you know Morgana, and Gwen's just as bad."

Arthur threw his hands up in the air. "Women!" But he secretly admitted Guinevere's determination was one of the things he loved most about her.

* * *

Kilgharrah kept the kestrel within his vision, though his head throbbed. Enough time had passed that he'd been able to thwart the command, but something within him rebelled anyway. He had hoped flying to the aid of the son of a dragonlord would have given him more of a release from the pain.

The kestrel veered to the right. Kilgharrah followed and worried. He had to rescue Merlin in the first few seconds he found him. It wouldn't take long for Aredian to act. Kilgharrah blew out a jet of fire in frustration. Balinor should have let him turn the witchfinder to ashes when he had the chance.

* * *

Aredian rubbed his hands together eagerly, surveying his finished work. A pity he had to keep breaking it down and rebuilding it, but he couldn't chance someone taking too keen an interest. He looked over at the boy. His wide blue eyes stared, so innocent and afraid, but Aredian was unmoved. He'd seen that look before many times.

"It's time, Emrys." Aredian rose and moved over to Merlin who had resumed shaking. He fingered the leather bracelet on Merlin's right wrist, smirking at the Pendragon crest. "You serve so willingly those that would kill you if they knew who you were. Do you know how many I watched Uther burn? Hundreds. Don't fear. What I do here will remove your burden."

"You c-can't take my magic," Merlin stammered. "I need it."

"To help the prince? Is that what nonsense Kilgharrah has told you? Prophecies are well spun lies to make men feel better about their trials. To stoke them up with some belief that there is purpose and hope in the world. You're only a child born of a woman and a powerful man. Your magic is a fluke. You are Emrys only because someone has thought you are."

"That's not true," Merlin murmured, though Aredian caught the hint of doubt in his tone.

"You are simply a boy, and one who doesn't deserve what he's been given. So I will have it and put it to real use."

Aredian moved over to one of his bags, withdrawing a small wooden chest. He knelt and set it in front of him. He unlocked it, then flipped up its lid. Light danced across him, rippling like sun reflected on water. His crystal eyes beamed as he reached inside and withdrew a small glass ball swirling with blue light.

"So beautiful," Aredian murmured. "So pure. Free of flesh." His eyes shifted to Merlin who had paled considerably. "Magic may be despised and rejected by many, but there are those who crave its power for themselves. Haven't you ever wondered where this hate of magic comes from? Perhaps it is more the fear of what they cannot have that makes people its enemies. This," he held up the glowing ball, "is magic. And I can give it to whomever I like. For a price."

Merlin balked. "You _sell_ magic?"

Aredian placed the blue ball back into the chest, then removed several clear ones. He shuffled over to his contraption. "I'm not a petty thief. My work takes much planning, and I must live, so I ask for pay. But it's not about coin. It's about control." He pushed the clear balls into a tube that stuck out at an odd angle on the back of the maze of metal. "Uther and your father think in such black and white terms: magic is bad, magic is good. What is magic but power. Power moves men and kingdoms and countries. I don't just give it away to anyone who crosses my path. I choose who wields the power and who doesn't."

Merlin looked horrified.

Aredian laughed aloud. "What? You think happenstance should rule who gets magic? Better a mind that directs it with intention. Your father thought to unite Albion through endless discussion, scraping and begging for an audience. What did it get him? Exile. But me? They listen to me because I have the one thing that can guarantee they achieve their goals. Albion will unite, but in my way and to my design. I will bring about what no one else has managed. Whether it be war or peace, death or life, _I_ will direct history's path."

Aredian grinned. "And you, Merlin, Emrys, will achieve your destiny through my hands."


	33. Le Morte d'Emrys

Morgana shifted impatiently in her saddle as Arthur scrutinized horse tracks. Lancelot had guided them to the last place Aredian had been tracked. She kept glancing every which way, fearing the witchfinder might leap out at them at any moment. When Lancelot had reported Arthur had been shut in his rooms to prevent his seeking Merlin, Morgana had found her courage. Merlin didn't deserve to die for her magic.

But now, out here, her terror returned full force. The witchfinder and the hooded woman haunted her. She could sense something out here, some kind of deep pain, though if it came from a person or the forest, she couldn't tell.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Gwen asked, moving her horse closer.

"I'm fine, Gwen," she replied more tersely than intended. "Arthur. Haven't you found anything yet?"

Arthur paced several steps away, then circled them. "It's as Lancelot said. They disappear."

Lancelot jumped down from his horse. He reached into his pack to withdraw a torch to closer observe the dim wood. Morgana swallowed a gasp. Her dream. Lancelot with a torch. Arthur searching a forest. She glanced at her maidservant. Gwen with a sword.

"It doesn't make sense," Arthur murmured as Lancelot lit the torch and came near, crouching down.

A sudden rustle drew their attention. Morgana instinctively pulled back on her horse's reins, moving away. Gwen drew her sword.

"Show yourself!" Arthur cried.

"Sire?"

Morgana let out a breath as a familiar physician appeared through the woody growth.

"Gaius?" Arthur said.

"I was looking for Merlin," the physician explained, then raised his right eyebrow. "I see you aren't in your rooms."

"Lancelot..."

Gaius raised a hand. "It's better I not know. What have you discovered?"

"Tracks that lead nowhere," Arthur grumbled. "This is where they end."

The physician leaned down next to Lancelot. "I see." He looked up at the prince. "I have an idea, sire."

"Yes?"

Gaius straightened. "During the time your father sought out sorcerers, many were smuggled out of the kingdom. Sympathetic subjects provided safe places they could hide in along the way."

"And you know of these?"

Gaius firmed his jaw. "I do not wish to risk my own head," he muttered.

Arthur nodded in understanding. Gaius had always been a kind soul. Might he have kept quiet about these safe places in the past? Arthur spoke quietly. "What's done is done. You've been loyal to us. All that matters to me is Merlin, not what might have happened long ago."

"Then, sire, if it has not decayed, there is a place nearby that might be used."

"Lead us."

* * *

Merlin was trying to be brave, to be everything Arthur constantly preached about to his knights, all that stuff about not letting fear rule in your heart, don't let down Camelot, and stay strong in the face of death. But he was failing. As Aredian pulled him to a sitting position and leaned him against a wall, he couldn't control his trembling no matter how hard he tried. He was going to lose his magic.

Aredian moved back over to the contraption, running a hand over a swirling symbol. "See this?"

Merlin watched, but hadn't the voice to reply.

"It's called a triskelion. Its three branches represent the magic of the world, of earth and sky and sea. This one has been imbued with the power of them all, to draw magic back to its source. So think of this as your magic going back where it belongs. Don't fight it."

Merlin could hardly breathe. His heart thrummed. _Help me! Kilgharrah! Arthur! Someone!_

Aredian grinned and flicked the triskelion. The symbol spun, faster and faster and faster. Merlin closed his eyes against it. An invisible force gripped his body and then slipped through his skin. His blood burned and rushed through his veins. A great weight squeezed him from within and without, crushing him like grapes in a wine press. A scream ripped from his throat.

That was when the earth began to break.

* * *

Kilgharrah heard Merlin crying for help. "Now, friend!" he cried out to the kestrel. The bird screeched. They were almost there.

Kilgharrah let out a roar as pain shot through his bones. Magic tore asunder. A violent wind buffeted the sky, and the kestrel would have been blown away if the dragon hadn't enclosed him in his paw. He didn't need the bird anymore. He could see the grief of magic all around him, and its cause was only meters away.

"Emrys!" Kilgharrah shouted. He dived and landed, releasing the kestrel who took shelter in a hole at the base of a tree. He dug into the earth, flinging huge chunks of it every which way, desperate to save Albion's hope.

* * *

Morgana felt the impact right before the ground underneath their feet turned against them. The pain she'd sensed burst forth inside her heart, and she clutched at her chest. Then everything lost balance. Her horse reared and she fell from its back, landing with a thud.

"My lady!" Gwen called out, at her side in an instant. She dragged Morgana away from the horses suddenly gone wild, squealing and wailing, kicking out viciously. The women clung to each other.

Arthur stumbled to a tree, followed by Lancelot and Gaius. All three anchored themselves to it as the ground rippled underneath them. The sky had darkened within seconds. A deluge poured down.

"What is it?" Lancelot called out.

Arthur stared around them. He'd never really paid much attention to the men that took up residence in the market place and preached about the end of the world, but now he believed it wholeheartedly. What else could this be?

Gaius pressed his forehead into the tree. The rain hid his tears. He had no doubt what this meant. Merlin was dying.

* * *

Aredian had frozen as Merlin reacted to the triskelion's power. He had never in his life seen such agony in reaction to it. The boy thrashed in the chains, his face gone red, his mouth open in a neverending scream. Then the shelter pitched back and forth. Aredian lost his feet.

Stone chipped from the walls and ceiling. Aredian crawled towards the triskelion. He was thrown back by another rumble in the earth. A fragment of stone pinged against his forehead and blood trickled down his face. He struggled to his feet, then leaped, slamming his hand into the spinning wheel to halt it.

The world stopped imploding. Aredian breathed so fast he thought his heart might burst. He wiped at his bloodied brow as looked over at the boy. Merlin jerked and shuddered, residual evidence of the triskelion's effect. Aredian stared, everything he'd ever believed shaken to its core. "You _are_ Emrys."

He didn't have time to reorient his thoughts. Stones from the ceiling plummeted down. Aredian ran to Merlin, taking shelter by the far wall and covering his head. What had he done?

Wind whipped inside the room as the ceiling gave way. Aredian looked up and his eyes went wide. He had only a second to throw his hand up and shield himself.

* * *

Merlin gasped for breath. The pressure had disappeared, his blood had slowed, his heart recovered. He coughed and managed to open his eyes just in time to see the ceiling of his prison coming down. The face that appeared in the opening brought immediate relief. "Kilgharrah," he strained out. A jet of fire shot out from the dragon's mouth, but it stopped, beating against an invisible barrier. Aredian had conjured a shield against the flame.

Aredian began to speak, a strange, guttural language issuing forth. The dragon's fire spluttered and ceased. Aredian kept chanting, standing and shouting. Kilgharrah wailed. "No," Merlin begged. "Please." Kilgharrah withdrew, flapping away into the aftermath of a storm.

Aredian collapsed to his knees. He turned to Merlin. "We must get you out of here." His eyes had grown resolute once again. "What I can do with you."

"You will do nothing."

Aredian leaped to his feet, a bit unsteadily. "You. How did you get here?"

Merlin craned his neck to behold a woman pulling down a hood from her face. "Nimueh."

"The dragon broke your wards." She held her hand in the air and red sparks shot up from it. "You will leave Emrys to me."

"So _you_ can use him?" Aredian accused.

"Emrys is not to be used by you or me. He is to be free to fulfill his destiny." Nimueh flicked her wrist. The silver chains dropped from Merlin's form.

"Nimueh," Aredian cajoled, "I want Uther dead same as you."

Nimueh cackled. "You who helped him kill our kind."

"He is no longer fit to rule. With Emrys, we can arm Camelot's enemies and bring Uther to his knees."

"It is not Emrys' destiny to fell Uther."

"And how would you know what he is to do and how he is to do it!"

"Because I sought to use him, same as you, and I failed." Nimueh stepped closer. Aredian backed up. "Have you told him who you are? What you did to his father? How you betrayed your kin?"

Merlin had managed to push himself up onto his elbows. He glanced between the two. "Kin?"

"Aredian is your father's brother."

Merlin blinked. Aredian was his uncle?

"Half-brother," Aredian growled.

"Kin nonetheless." Nimueh raised a hand, lightning crackling within it as she confronted the witchfinder. "For all you have done, you are owed death."

Aredian raised his own hand. "You can't win against me."

"I almost killed you once."

"Almost. But you didn't."

"There's no one to stop me this time." Lightning zapped from her fingers. Yellow energy answered from Aredian's hand. Their attacks met, twisting and exploding into each other.

* * *

The rain dissipated as quickly as it came. Clouds lifted, a ray of sunlight shining through not far away. Arthur recovered himself, pushing damp bangs out of his eyes. Lancelot moved to aid Morgana who was having difficulty standing even with Gwen's help.

"Gaius," Arthur whispered. "What happened?"

Gaius wiped at his cheeks. How could he tell Arthur that Merlin was dead, that the entire world had mourned his passing? He would have to explain everything. "Arthur." He gripped the young man's arm. "I must tell you... Merlin..." He swallowed a threatening sob.

A heartrending wail interrupted. Arthur's head snapped to the sound. A winged creature sailed into the air and away. He brandished his sword. "Dragon," he breathed out in awe. He hadn't seen a dragon since his father killed the last one, but it couldn't have been the last one unless his eyes deceived him.

"Arthur," Lancelot spoke next to him, his arm linked around Morgana's to steady her. "It's magic. All of it."

"Aredian," Arthur realized. The man had a dragon as well? And power to shake the earth? As he thought these things, red sparks burst into the air not far away from them. "There!" Arthur shouted. He dashed away.

"My lord!" Gaius called after him. "It's not safe for you."

Arthur ignored Gaius' cry. He sprinted around obstacles in his path, imagining Aredian gleefully burning Merlin to death. He heard a series of explosions and careened into a clearing with a giant hole in its middle. Blue and yellow light flickered out of it. He went to his stomach, army crawling as quickly as he could to peer down.

Aredian and a woman were battling, but their weapons were those of magic. He'd never seen a sorcerer battle, even though stories of them were still told among the populace. He would have been utterly captivated by the raw power on display if he hadn't spied Merlin on the other side of them, backed into a wall, looking pale and spent.

"Her." Arthur glanced at his shoulder to see Lancelot. "Nimueh. The one that poisoned you."

Arthur looked back at the fight. What was she doing here? Why? "We need to get Merlin."

"Over here, sire," Gaius called. He wrenched back a hidden door from the ground. Arthur crawled over to see a stone staircase descending. He took them two at a time to the floor of the pit. He plastered himself to the stairwell so the magic wielders wouldn't see him. Merlin was several meters way.

"Merlin," Arthur hissed. "Merlin."

The boy turned his head Arthur's direction. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. He attempted to stand and his knees buckled. He began to crawl.

"No!" Aredian cried out.

Merlin yelped as he was dragged backwards by an invisible force and smashed against the farthest wall. He pitched over, groaning.

Nimueh shrieked. Lightning chained around the space. Arthur crouched down, its intensity raising the hair on his arms. Aredian screamed and screamed and screamed, then abruptly ceased. The air became deathly quiet. The sorceress moved towards Merlin. Arthur rose, stepping into the room, holding out his sword. "Get away from him!"

She turned, raising her hand again. "I have no quarrel with you, Arthur Pendragon."

"You will pay for what you did to me and to him."

"Arthur." Merlin's weak voice came from the ground. He staggered to his feet and in front of Nimueh. "She saved me."

Arthur looked confused. "Saved you?"

Merlin nodded slowly. "Look." A shaking finger pointed across the room. Arthur beheld Aredian's corpse, a charred mass.

Footsteps sounded as Gaius, Lancelot, Morgana, and Gwen appeared. Gaius barreled across the room, drawing Merlin into his arms. "My boy!" he cried out. Tears dripped down his cheeks. Nimueh stepped out from behind them.

"Will you surrender?" Arthur asked, still unsure about this claim she had saved his servant boy.

Nimueh chuckled. She looked beyond him. "Uther's ward." Arthur glanced back at Morgana staring at the woman as if she'd seen a ghost. The sorceress and the ward locked eyes.

"Submit and you may earn your freedom," Arthur demanded.

"Uther would never give me freedom," Nimueh scoffed. "I won't go with you. I have done what I needed to." She looked at Merlin sheltered in Gaius' arms, and ran a thin hand over his disheveled raven hair. "Farewell."

Arthur took a step towards her but a violent wind arose, spinning in circles around Nimueh. The sorceress was swallowed up in seconds, and when the whirlwind faded, she was gone. Arthur stared in disbelief until Gaius called him. "Sire!"

Merlin had slipped unconscious in the physician's arms.

* * *

As Arthur rode back to the castle, he noted all the evidences of the earthquake. Some market stalls had collapsed, a few walls had fallen from houses. In the castle courtyard, several casks of wine being delivered had rolled away and broken open, the air thick with the sweet scent of their contents. He could hardly believe Aredian had been so powerful to create such an earthquake. Or was it the sorceress? Either way, he understood why his father had been so scared for him.

Arthur dismounted, pulling an unconscious form with him. He hadn't allowed anyone to look after Merlin but himself. He hefted the boy into an easier position and climbed the castle steps, intending to go to Gaius' rooms, but a guard met him in the hall.

"Sire. Your father requests your presence."

Arthur scowled. "Tell him it must wait."

"He says now, sire."

"I'll take Merlin," Lancelot offered, stepping up next to Arthur. Arthur stared for a moment, then reluctantly let the boy be taken from him. Gaius and Gwen followed, the latter looking sympathetically back at Arthur, a small smile intending to encourage him.

A hand laid on Arthur's shoulder. He looked over at Morgana, pale and clearly exhausted. "Go rest. I have to pay the piper." He gently squeezed her hand then made his way to the throne room. He squared his shoulders and entered.

"Arthur!" Uther shouted when he saw him.

"Father." Arthur attempted to look penitent, but a hint of defiance remained in his posture.

"You disobeyed me," Uther reprimanded gruffly.

"I had to. Merlin needed me."

"I told you, a servant is not worth putting you in danger."

"I know what you think, but..."

"Was it the witchfinder who caused the land to shake?" Uther asked abruptly.

"Him or the sorceress."

"Sorceress?"

"There was a woman as well. Nimueh?"

Uther's face blanched. "She was here again?"

Arthur nodded.

"Why?"

"She was fighting Aredian when w- _I_ found her. Aredian's dead and she's gone."

Uther ran his fingers over his lips, eyes alternating between fear and anger. "She tried to kill you once and you walk right to her! I don't know what to do with you."

"I take full responsibility for my actions."

"And would do it again."

Arthur lowered his gaze. "Yes."

"You must learn not to defy your king like any man. You bring shame upon me."

"That wasn't my intention."

"Nevertheless, you demonstrate to our people the crown lacks the respect of its own household."

Arthur looked up. "I respect you."

"Not enough to _trust_ me."

Arthur saw hurt pass through his father's eyes. "I do, but..."

"As punishment for your actions, you will be..."

"How can you do this?" Morgana's voice cried out as she entered the throne room. She'd been standing in the hall, listening through the open door, recalling that time long ago when Arthur had taken the blame for their play and been thrashed for it. "You want the people to respect their king? Then a king should care about those who serve him, who have been loyal, giving their very lives."

"Morgana," Arthur spoke softly. She ignored him, stomping all the way up to Uther.

"Arthur acts as a king _should_. He doesn't toss someone away for his own selfish reasons. He's brave and courageous, and you would see that he deserves your praise if you for one moment forgot the stupidity of convention. What do you want him to be? A man who hides himself away the moment danger appears or who rides forth to challenge it? He doesn't deserve punishment for doing what is right." She stopped, breathing hard, eyes boring into Uther.

Arthur stepped up next to her. "Forgive her. She's had a difficult time recently."

Uther rose from his throne. "I do not deride you for your courage or loyalty. Only your obedience." Morgana opened her mouth, but Uther held up a hand. "You're my only son and heir, Arthur. I don't want to lose you, and the kingdom _cannot_ lose you."

"I know, father. I'm sorry."

Uther rested a hand on his shoulder. "I suppose your punishment should fit the crime. You will lead all the patrols this week, and walk the battlements as a guard at night. If defending Camelot is in your heart, I expect to hear no complaint."

Arthur tried not to smile. He'd be tired, but he recognized the faith his father was putting in him. "You will hear nothing from me, sire." He bowed. Uther dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Morgana followed him out, her expression surprised.

Arthur laughed. "He listens to you more than you think. Thank you, Morgana." He took her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "Now, to rest."

"Merlin..."

"I'll see to him."

* * *

A horrible stench jolted Merlin to wakefulness. Gaius sat next to his bed, a jar held under his nose. He pulled it away. "Welcome back to the living."

Merlin glanced around his room. "That's awful," he complained.

"That's the point," Gaius said. "I've looked you over. You seem in good health."

Merlin stretched aching arms and groaned.

"You're in pain."

"Just aches. He tied me up in chains." Merlin's voice faded as his heart thumped wildly. "He was going to take my magic." He threw his hand out and Gaius caught it. "He almost did."

Gaius placed his other hand on Merlin's forehead. "Calm, Merlin."

"I can't lose it, Gaius. I can't ever lose it."

Gaius moved both hands to Merlin's shoulders and looked into his panicking eyes. "You're not going to lose it. You can't."

"W-what?"

"You are Emrys."

"I know. I think."

"I don't know how or why, but Merlin, you do not just have magic, you _are_ magic."

Merlin frowned.

"The world has borne you for a purpose. Magic is your lifeblood."

Merlin spoke in a hushed voice. "Aredian said I was just a simple boy."

"Aredian was wrong," Gaius declared with conviction.

"But why am I so weak?"

"Weak?" Gaius questioned. "Merlin, whatever Aredian tried to do to you caused the world's very foundations to come undone."

"It did?"

Gaius smiled gently. "You have so much potential. You only need to unlock it."

Merlin didn't speak for a moment. How did he unlock it? "Gaius?"

"Hm?"

"Was Aredian really my uncle?"

Gaius' face grew grave. "He told you."

"Nimueh said he was."

"He was your father's older brother, though through a different mother."

"Did you know my father?"

Gaius blinked slowly. "Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Merlin asked, his tone not accusing, but curious.

"I have assumed him dead. I haven't heard from him in many years. And Uther did not like him. I'm not sure what the king would do if he knew you were Balinor's son."

Merlin sighed. Great. Not only would Uther kill him if he found out about his magic, he hated his father as well.

"Enough questions. You need to rest."

"Kilgharrah's gone."

Gaius paused at the door. "He escaped the cavern."

"He tried to help me. Aredian used magic to stop him."

Gaius' gaze clouded. "Did he?"

Merlin nodded.

"Perhaps the great dragon will return some day."

Merlin shrugged. Gaius departed. _Kilgharrah?_ Merlin called out in his mind. "Kilgharrah?" There was no answer. Silent tears slid down Merlin's cheeks.

* * *

By the time Morgana returned to her rooms, Gwen had washed and changed and gone to work preparing her bed for sleep. Morgana gratefully let Gwen help her out of her clothing.

"What happened to Arthur?" the girl asked timidly.

"Uther wasn't happy with him," Morgana informed her, "but the punishment was to Arthur's liking."

"Really?"

"Patrols and night guard duty."

Gwen smiled to herself. Yes. Arthur would like that. Maybe she'd have to prepare some food for him to take along on the patrols. And then bring him a cup of her herbal tea at night.

"Is Merlin alright?"

"Gaius said he'll be fine. He just needs rest. Like you."

Morgana stiffened.

"My lady?"

She forced herself to relax. "I'm fine." She raised her arms as Gwen slipped her nightdress on, then turned to her maid. "You need sleep as well. We've had a long day." She stepped out from the screen.

Gwen moved towards the door, then hesitated at the table. "Oh. This was here when I came in." She picked up a small wrapped cloth. "It feels like a bracelet. I don't know how he got it here this fast, but it must be from an admirer."

Morgana flushed as Gwen handed her the package, curtsied, then left. She unfolded the cloth. An intricately decorated bracelet of gold and silver lay inside. She slipped it onto her wrist, then opened a small parchment that had laid underneath it. She frowned at the unfamilar handwriting.

 _I gift you this to release you from the pain, but it can never erase who you are._

Morgana dropped the parchment and staggered to her bed, twisting the bracelet around her arm. The hooded woman from the forest. The one that saved Merlin. She'd tried to forget the woman staring at her when they found Merlin. The voice that spoke in her head: _I know what you suffer. It can be silenced, but nothing will change who you are, Morgana Pendragon._

* * *

Arthur passed Lancelot as he strode down the hall towards Gaius' chambers. "How is he?"

Lancelot paused. "Well. Gaius reports nothing broken, not even a scratch. A bit tired, though."

"Good, then. Where are you headed?"

"To get out of this chain mail," Lancelot groaned.

"And then to Morgana?"

"Eh..."

Arthur laughed. "You've paid quite a bit of attention to her lately."

"Well, she's the king's ward."

"And something more."

"Maybe."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"The king wouldn't exactly approve."

"That doesn't mean I wouldn't. She could do worse."

"Oh, thank you very much," Lancelot smirked.

Arthur chuckled. "I dismiss you."

Lancelot bowed with a flourish and turned down the hall. Arthur made his way to Gaius' door and entered without preamble. Gaius was sitting at his table, his head propped in his hand, eating a small meal. "He's resting. He said he didn't want to eat." The physician held up a plate. "Perhaps you can persuade him, sire."

Arthur nodded and took the plate, moving to Merlin's door. He slowly cracked it open. "Merlin?"

"Arthur?"

Arthur stepped inside as the boy pushed himself up. He sat down on the end of the bed. "Gaius says you won't eat." He handed the plate to Merlin.

Merlin looked down at it. "I'm not hungry."

"You who devoured everything I handed you aren't hungry?"

Merlin shook his head, placing the plate on a small crate next to his bed.

"What is it?"

Merlin wrapped his arms around himself. _He tried to take my magic!_ If he was magic like Gaius said, and his magic couldn't be taken, then the triskelion must have been killing him. The pain had been unbearable, every inch of his body under attack. He imagined it was like being poisoned and burned to death at the same time. So much for being some great sorcerer with a purpose. He'd been chained like an animal and unable to escape.

"Come on, Merlin. What's wrong?"

A lump grew in Merlin's throat. "I'm not like you, Arthur."

Arthur raised one eyebrow. "Like me?"

"I wasn't brave. I'm sorry." His face grew wet and he rubbed angrily at tears.

"Merlin." Arthur's voice was soft.

"I'm not a knight!" Merlin exclaimed. "I don't stay strong in the face of death, and fear does rule my heart!"

"Merlin," Arthur said more insistently.

"And I'm sorry that I can never be anything but a scared little child!" Merlin ducked his head as more tears flowed.

Arthur slid closer to him and gripped his shoulder. "I was terrified."

Merlin looked up. "You?"

"And it wasn't the first time."

"But, you always say..."

"Being brave doesn't mean fear disappears. You can't help that. It means you act in spite of it."

"I didn't."

"Stop it, Merlin." Arthur gently shook his shoulder. "You know what I've seen? A boy who took a vicious blow to save my life. Who faced bandits and came out alive. Who goes to find a sorceress that might kill him. Who ends up in the stocks because his master is too dull-witted to realize he's under a spell. That's who you are, Merlin. You're braver than most men will be in a lifetime."

Merlin stared at Arthur in wonder.

"And Aredian scared all of us. Even my father. He was a powerful, ruthless man, and we should fear men like him." Arthur wrapped his arm around Merlin's shoulders. "I was terrified because I thought I'd lose you, and I can't ever let that happen. You're not just a servant. You're a friend and brother, like the knights."

Merlin smiled. "You're not just a prince. You're my friend, too."

Arthur smiled back.

"Does that mean..."

"What?"

"I don't have to do chores anymore."

"Let's not push it," Arthur chuckled.

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"You said you can't trust people who do magic."

Arthur pulled back and tilted his head, surprised by the turn in conversation. "I recall."

"Nimueh saved me."

"And she poisoned _me_."

"I think she was sorry about that."

Arthur snorted, unconvinced.

"Maybe magic isn't good or bad. Maybe it's more like a sword and what you do with it that makes a difference."

Arthur raised his eyebrows skeptically. "I'm not sure that's exactly true."

"I am."

Arthur shook his head and stood. "Get some rest," he encouraged. He made for the door, then turned back. "Oh. And since you're my friend, I'll give you one day off." He winked at Merlin who returned with his characteristic grin.

* * *

The next morning, Merlin groaned. "Gaius. Leave me alone." Arthur may have given him the day off, but Gaius was poking him about the chest, trying to wake him. "Stop," he insisted when the physician carried on. He finally cracked his eyes in annoyance, then sat up abruptly. "You."

Nero had flitted down from his chest to his legs. The bird hopped up and down and screeched at him. Merlin looked to the door. "Shhhhh. Don't let Gaius know you're here." He reached out and gathered the bird into his hands. Nero became docile, settling down into his lap. Merlin ran a hand over the bird's feathers, remembering how it had apparently fled from Aredian. _And come back to me because of my magic._

"You don't have anyone to take care of you," Merlin murmured. "I guess I can, but..." He glanced at the door again. "Well I don't care what Gaius thinks. I'm keeping you." Nero knocked him with his head like he had when he'd been captured. A sudden image flew through Merlin's mind, a bird's eye view of Camelot, as if he were flying. He gasped as it faded. "You can show me things," he whispered. Like it had Aredian.

As Merlin sat quietly with the kestrel, he considered how much Nero could do despite his blindness. He thought over his capture at Aredian's hands, and Arthur's explanation of bravery. Maybe he could be more powerful even though he was young. "I just have to unlock my magic," he muttered. And use it.

Merlin stood. If he had the day off, then he'd start right now. "Stay here," he commanded Nero, leaving the room and bouncing down the stairs. Gaius still slept, but the light shone brightly through the windows. He shook the physician. "Gaius. Gaius, wake up."

Gaius groaned. "Merlin?" He opened his eyes and shielded them against the light.

"You slept late."

Gaius struggled to sit up. "And you thought that meant you could wake me."

"We have work to do."

"Eager to gather herbs?" Gaius inquired as he yawned.

Merlin shook his head. "I want to learn to use my magic..."

"This early?"

"To fight."


	34. Close to Home

Merlin yelped as he crashed into a tree, then whimpered as he slid down onto his back. He lay still for a moment, eyes fixed on the cloudy grey sky. He groaned. This would leave more bruises.

He sat up and gasped at a sharp pain in his left arm. He raised it and grimaced. A gash had slashed across the upper half of his arm, tearing his blue shirt. The sleeve was quickly darkening with blood. Great. Now Gaius would know what he'd been up to, _and_ he'd have to explain it to Arthur if anyone saw him before he made it back to the physician to heal it magically.

Merlin stumbled over to his bag across the clearing, rummaging around for a cloth. He held it to his arm, grumbling. He must have hit that branch over there, the sharp one sticking out. Gaius had warned him he'd kill himself if he wasn't careful. _I need to be more mindful_ , he told himself, but even he knew he'd just keep trying.

He glanced at the sky again. He couldn't see the sun, but he calculated the brightness. He should get back. Arthur had requested him for the afternoon. Uther had been out of the castle for the last few days, only due back tomorrow, and some silly nobles had shown up demanding instant negotiation regarding trade routes throughout their lands. Uther would make the final decision, but Arthur called a meeting just to appease them until his father returned. He wanted Merlin there to serve refreshment as needed, he said, though Merlin secretly thought Arthur just wanted someone else to be as bored as him.

Merlin slung his bag cross-ways over his shoulder, beginning the hike back to the castle. He glanced down at himself. " _Fordwin wamm_." His dirty clothes were wiped clean. At least Gaius wouldn't yell at him for getting muddy again.

Merlin flinched at the pain in his arm. He'd learned so much over the last six months, but healing still alluded him. He could manage small sores, a few muscle related aches, sprains, and that was all. He'd questioned Gaius why healing was so difficult for a supposed amazing sorcerer. Gaius had wondered himself, unable to give him a solid answer.

A screech sounded behind Merlin, and he grinned as familiar talons latched onto his shoulder. Aredian may have been an awful man that deserved to die, but he had certainly trained Nero well. The kestrel landed without scratching him. Merlin dug into his pocket to retrieve a small package of dried meat. He unwrapped it and held the treat in his palm next to Nero's beak. The bird snatched it away, eagerly ripping into it.

Merlin chuckled as he recalled when Gaius had stomped into his room, confronting him with bird droppings he'd found scattered in the main chamber. Merlin had to confess then that Nero had sought him out and he'd been taking care of the bird. Gaius groused a bunch, but in the end agreed to it as long as Merlin kept the kestrel out of the main chamber. Merlin had been more worried about Arthur's reaction to Nero, but the prince simply teased him about being so girly animals loved him and seemed to think it natural Nero would come to him after such a miserable owner as Aredian.

When Merlin reached the citadel, Nero left his shoulder, flying away up to the tower room where Merlin almost always left his window open for the bird. Merlin climbed the spiral staircase. So far he hadn't met anyone that might remember his cut...until he reached the door to Gaius' chambers and Gwen came barreling out. Merlin jumped back to avoid another crash.

"Merlin!" the girl exclaimed in surprise.

"Hey," he said.

She raised her hand to the cloth he pressed against his arm. "What did you do?" she asked disapprovingly.

"Just...erm...climbing trees."

"I don't think I've met anyone who continues to get as hurt as you," Gwen said. "You need to stop climbing them Merlin if you're just going to fall out of them."

"You don't get better if you don't practice?" Merlin said hopefully. It was true, though she didn't know what he'd really been practicing.

Gwen sighed. "Well, I need to go."

"Sure."

Gwen kissed his forehead. "Do be a more careful boy. For me."

Merlin laughed. "I can try, I guess."

She smiled and strolled away down the hall.

Merlin took a breath, then entered Gaius' chambers boldly, as if nothing in the world had gone wrong. "Hi, Gaius. I'm going to go wash up." He made a beeline for his room, but the physician was faster, his hand clamping down on his shoulder.

"What is that?" He pulled at the cloth. Merlin held it tightly in place.

"I'm alright."

Gaius tugged at it. Merlin sighed as he let go. Gaius dropped the bloodied cloth onto a worktable and lifted his arm to get a better look. "Gwen saw it?"

"Yeah."

"So no healing."

"No."

Gaius growled under his breath as he stepped to a shelf full of bottles. "You were practicing it again, weren't you?"

Merlin dipped his head.

"I told you to stop."

"But I can do it."

The physician picked up a clean cloth, dampening it with a liquid from one of the bottles. "You obviously can't." He stepped back over to Merlin. "This will sting."

Merlin winced and swallowed a whine as fire zipped along the wound. "I want to know how she did it."

"Can't you be content with what you've already learned?"

No, he couldn't. Gaius hadn't really approved of using magic to fight, but after being kidnapped, almost killed, and seeing Nimueh decimate his captor, Merlin had decided he'd spent too much time learning simple tricks. If he was going to truly help Arthur, he needed to use his power to its potential.

"I know you think you have to do these things," Gaius carried on, "but I worry over you."

"I don't think anything I do or don't do will stop you from that." Merlin smiled at the physician who shook his head disapprovingly.

"What did you discover?"

"Nothing," Merlin sighed again. He had learned how to toss large objects around, funnel conjured fire into a blasting shot, and control a whirlwind, but he hadn't worked out how Nimueh had used swirling wind to disappear. He didn't think she went invisible. More like it transported her somewhere. Gaius had no idea how to accomplish it, and the grimoire was no help, so he'd been trying to do it on his own and continuing to fail spectacularly.

Gaius retrieved a paste, swabbed it over the disinfected wound, and wrapped it with a bandage. "There. Now, get up there and wash and try to remember that I don't want you to die before I'm old and senile."

Merlin grinned and did as the physician ordered. Nero, who had been nestled on his bed, popped up and hopped up and down like he hadn't just been with him minutes ago. Merlin undressed, washed up a bit, and put on clean clothes. Luckily, Arthur hadn't demanded his formal serving clothes which made Merlin even more sure he was meant to be present for moral support more than anything else.

He glanced at his desk for a moment and sighted an open letter laying upon it. He reached down, fingering it lightly. He'd read it a million times. It had come from his mother in response to one he sent six months ago. His had been succinct, hers less so. He had to admit he'd been a bit annoyed, writing shortly, _I was almost killed by my uncle Aredian. I'm fine. I want to know about Balinor._ He'd almost expected her to refuse to say anything like she always had, but she'd been more open than ever before.

Her response explained she met his father during the Purge, that he had been a compassionate man on the side of sorcerers, and that he had, indeed, possessed magic ability. Merlin had to read between the lines to figure out he feared he would be hunted down by Uther and for this reason had distanced himself from her. Merlin noted she didn't say if he'd been born or not at that time. He didn't think he could have. What father would leave knowing he had a son? Finally, she said she hadn't heard from nor seen him since he left.

Merlin sighed heavily. So he still had nothing except past descriptions. Gaius told him his father was a good, brave, and kind man, and although Merlin was glad of that, it didn't make up for having never seen the man in his life.

Merlin pulled himself out of his thoughts. He looked to Nero. "Behave yourself," he warned, before exiting to the main chamber. Gaius wasn't there. He must have needed something or been called away.

Merlin made his way down the spiral staircase, heading to the smaller council chamber. He'd be early. Arthur would like that.

* * *

Merlin heard mumbling chatter when he reached the door of the council chamber. He balked. The meeting wasn't supposed to be started! Arthur would be furious. They must have changed the time without him knowing. He skirted the main door and rushed down the side hall to the servants' door. Maybe he could sneak in. Arthur would still know he'd been late and lecture his ear off, but at least he would have shown up.

He opened the door as quietly as he could and cringed at a creak. The room went silent. His stomach flipped. Now _everyone_ would notice him. He almost turned back. He could deal with Arthur's tongue lashing and even extra work if he avoided such public embarrassment, but... Well, Arthur was always going on about doing the hard thing and this was certainly hard. He held himself high and entered, moving as swiftly as he could towards his customary place by a side column.

His steps slowed when he perceived a bunch of people he knew staring at him that shouldn't have been present. Gwen's sweet grin almost left her face as she met his gaze. Morgana stood next to her maid, red lips forming an attractive smile he always thought must make most men go weak-kneed. Lancelot was at the far end of the table they were gathered around, his lute laying before him, his eyes glittering. Then there was Leon, who actually would have been the only one Arthur might include in the meeting since the older knight was respected by outsiders and knowledgeable. Gaius cocked his head at Merlin, his face twisted to suppress his own smile. And then there was Arthur, at the head of the table of course, turning to look at him with a chastising gaze. There were no nobles that Merlin could see.

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted. "You're late."

"Erm..." Merlin didn't know what to think. "I... What is going on?"

"Oh, stop it, Arthur," Morgana reprimanded.

"You're fourteen!" Gwen declared, stepping forward to grasp his hand and pull him towards the table.

"Eh...yeah." It wasn't like he'd forgotten, it just didn't seem to matter. In Ealdor, his mother had always reminded him of the day of his birth, a rarity as most peasants didn't mark such a thing. And they never celebrated much, not having the money for frivolity. Usually his mother just made his favorite fruit pie which was hard enough to find the ingredients for.

"Gwen remembered the date. Your mother told her," Lancelot informed Merlin.

"Though Morgana put this together," Leon added.

"I helped," Arthur mumbled.

Morgana laughed. "Grumbling all the time."

"Still," Arthur asserted, his cheeks flushing.

"I don't get it," Merlin said. "It's not like it matters much."

"Look, Merlin," Arthur said, sticking his chest out. "You work hard every day of the year. As Morgana said to me, it's about time someone did something nice for you. And her argument made sense."

"Unless you don't want us to celebrate, and then we can take our gifts and go away," Lancelot teased.

Merlin finally grinned. "I guess I think it's okay."

There was shared laughter and Gwen gestured to the food on the table. "Besides, we can't leave any evidence of this behind. I had to bribe enough of the kitchen staff to make it without letting _someone_ know."

Arthur's eyebrows knit and Merlin could very well guess that someone was Uther, and Arthur hadn't quite been okay with that part of the plan, but went along anyway.

"So tuck in!" Gaius called out.

The group dissolved into a joyous meal shared around the table, chatting and laughing and enjoying Lancelot's occasional playing his lute and singing. They revealed the plan, how they'd hidden the idea for weeks, how Morgana thought Uther being gone was fortuitous (though Merlin got the hint she might have had something to do with it), how Arthur had made up the visiting nobles, and Gaius had been tasked at making sure Merlin was none the wiser.

As they ate, Merlin had his fill and ended up slouched back in his chair, his eyes running over his friends, counting himself among the very blessed of the world to have come to Camelot. Six months and life had gone back to normal. Arthur and Gwen flirted and threw eyes at each other any chance they got. Gaius tended the sick and put up with his antics. Lancelot continued to train him in various weapons and Arthur, too, when he made the time. Morgana's nightmares had vanished. Merlin was overjoyed she seemed back to how she'd been when he first met her, though Gaius harrumphed when Merlin told him she was healed. Seeing, Gaius said, didn't go away, and he wasn't quite sure what had happened to release her. Leon Merlin didn't see too much, but the older knight was always kind and willingly shared words of advice on patrols or hunts.

And Arthur. Arthur continued to be Arthur, building Merlin's skill in castle duties and his education with the same doggedness of hunting prey. Merlin owed so much to the prince. And yet... he continued to wonder how in the world they were supposed to unite Albion. Everything may have been well in the castle, but it was in turmoil elsewhere.

Wars had broken out throughout the land. Petty squabbles over various issues, but they still led to fights and death. And then there were rumors that more and more kingdoms were blaming Uther for the influx of sorcery into their lands, or if they were magic friendly, for his stance on magic. It seemed Camelot was gaining enemies.

Merlin didn't know how a prince and a servant boy could change the opinions of the entire land. And he didn't have Kilgharrah to ask anymore. He hadn't heard from the dragon since Aredian had forced him away. He sometimes wondered if Kilgharrah had died.

After the scrumptious meal, Morgana stood. "My dear Merlin," she began. "We wanted to show our appreciation to you, and perhaps an overdue welcome to our home. And so, we offer these gifts as a kindness and a reminder of all you have done, not the least of which is preserving the life our prince who can't seem to keep himself from needing his servant boy savior."

Arthur scowled at Morgana, and everyone laughed.

Morgana walked over to Merlin's chair and placed a book in front of him. "Your favorite."

Merlin gawked. It was an ancient tome, one she'd made him copy that contained fables of magical creatures from various lands. "Really?"

"What am I going to do with it? You'll read it more than I ever will."

Gwen eagerly passed over a small silver case. "To keep anything you want in it."

Lancelot and Leon presented a gift they had pooled their coin together to afford, a very nice lute Lancelot swore to teach him to play.

Gaius grinned like a Cheshire cat as he handed over a well supplied medical bag. Now Merlin had his own, and maybe he could take on some of the smaller diagnoses and give his mentor a break.

Arthur stood. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked to the servant boy he'd grown so close to in two years time. "You've done well in practice these last few months, and I think it's time you replaced that ratty practice sword with something more worth your skill." He nodded to Gwen, who jumped up and retrieved a wrapped object. She laid it front of Merlin who peeled back the cloth and gasped. A bright shining sword lay underneath, its cross-guard and pommel etched with dragons like the one on his bracelet. "Thank you," Merlin spoke breathlessly.

"Arthur directed its creation to my father himself," Gwen explained proudly. "Every detail."

Merlin stared at all the objects in front of him. His eyes suddenly itched and tears washed over them. He coughed in embarrassment and wiped at them.

"Well, Lancelot, dancing," Arthur commanded, pulling the attention away from his servant boy who was so very easily moved.

* * *

Arthur and Gwen walked with Gaius and Merlin back to their rooms, helping Merlin cart his new gifts. Gwen lingered with Gaius in the main room, the old man chattering on about some new concoction as Merlin and Arthur took the items to his room. Arthur glanced around when they entered.

"Nero not in?"

Merlin looked around. "I guess not."

"I'm amazed he hasn't destroyed your room."

"He's well trained."

"I suppose so."

Arthur moved over to the desk, setting down the book and lute Merlin had been given. His eye landed on the open letter. He cleared his throat as he caught the first few words— _I'm sorry I never told you much about your father._ He glanced at Merlin positioning the silver keepsake box on a shelf, his new sword already strapped to his side. Arthur recalled how much he had longed for his mother. When young, he had imagined her in his mind, making flesh the few portraits that existed of her. Had Merlin done the same with his father, only without any images at all?

"Merlin, how about some practice."

"I thought you had to address the iron workers guild."

"They'll keep. They have to wait on me anyway. Perks of being a prince and the one in charge when your father's away." He smiled mischievously.

Merlin laughed. "Alright, then."

* * *

Arthur and Merlin extricated Gwen from Gaius' ramblings as they passed through. She tagged along, sending eyes at Arthur and giggling a lot. Merlin loved the sound of her laughter. His two friends were always the most flirtatious and free when Uther was away. It made Merlin want Arthur to be king right now instead of waiting until his father died.

Arthur didn't lead them to the training yard, but to their own private clearing, the one he'd first dueled with Gwen in. Gwen observed for some time as they practiced, calling out her advice to Merlin and even to Arthur, who listened but often grunted in disagreement. Merlin found his new sword perfectly balanced to his weight and height, way easier than anything he had borrowed. When they took a break, Gwen sidled up to Arthur who wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"I wish I could stay longer, but duties call."

Arthur raised one of her hands and kissed it gently. "Some day you won't have to be called away from me."

Gwen lowered her eyes. "Perhaps."

"I won't stop loving you."

Gwen gently pulled away, moving back to the castle, Arthur staring after her.

"Just marry her now," Merlin spoke up.

Arthur snorted. "It's not that easy, Merlin."

"Well, if you won't stop loving her, you might as well just tell the king."

Arthur looked over at him. "It's not the right time."

"When is?"

Arthur shook his head. "I don't know."

"All this royal love rule stuff is stupid."

"At least you've learned never to open your mouth like this around my father."

"Maybe you should open your mouth around him more," Merlin returned with a twinkle in his eyes. Arthur was always so much fun to goad.

Arthur hefted his sword. "I think you need more practice." He came on harder and faster, Merlin struggling to keep up. It wasn't long before Arthur had swiped Merlin's sword from his hand and brandished it along with his own. He swung them at Merlin who ducked, then rushed, smacking his head right into Arthur's stomach and causing both of them to tumble. Arthur cast the swords aside, grappling with the boy. Merlin was no match for the prince when it came to wrestling. Arthur had him in a headlock in moments.

"Alright! You win! Let me out!" Merlin complained.

Arthur let go and ruffled the boy's hair when he glared at him. "Your swordsmanship is quite good, really. Maybe we'll work more on your strength." Merlin was still so thin and gangly, his arms and legs seeming to outgrow his torso.

"Maybe," Merlin muttered, clutching his left arm and wishing so much he could tell Arthur the truth, that he really was more powerful than the prince knew, just in a different way.

Arthur cocked his head. "Are you hurt?"

"What?" Merlin said. "I'm fine."

Arthur pulled him over by his right arm and raised his left sleeve to see the bandage. "How did that happen?"

"Eh...Trees."

"Climbing again?"

Merlin nodded. "You don't have to lecture me. Gwen and Gaius already did."

Arthur chuckled. "Do you know how many times I fell out of trees when I was your age?" He reached down to his pant leg and pulled it up, pointing at a nasty scar along his shin. "Tumbled all the way down an oak."

Merlin smiled at him.

"Don't stop climbing. Just don't get killed."

"I'll try."

A screech sounded and Nero appeared, landing right in front of Merlin. He hopped around for a few moments, then leaped onto Merlin's leg, walking up and down in agitation.

Arthur smiled. "I think he feels the way I do. I can't make the iron workers guild wait any longer." Though he wished he could. Spending time with Merlin was always far more fun than anything else he did...well, except when he was cuddling with Gwen.

Arthur stood, retrieved Merlin's sword, handed it to him, bowed with his own to his forehead, and left all smiles. Merlin watched him go and laid his sword next to his side. Nero shuffled all the way up his thigh and leaned into him. Merlin laid a hand on his head. "What have you been up to today?"

Nero showed him, communicating through their minds a series of images, most of it involving flying and landing. Merlin had gotten used to the shaky images, though at first they had made him queasy. Merlin started when the image shifted, Nero diving towards someone in a hooded grey cloak. He only caught a quick glimpse of the man underneath when he turned and shooed Nero away, flailing his arms. Long, dark hair fell over his shoulders. Bushy eyebrows arched over deep blue irises. A grizzled beard accented high cheekbones. The image disappeared.

Merlin glanced down at Nero, hopping around excitedly. "He's a sorcerer," he breathed out, a tremor in his voice. Who was he? And why was he in Camelot?

* * *

A man in a grey cloak hesitated as the castle appeared, a speck in the distance. He hadn't laid eyes on it in years. He'd never intended to return, although he imagined himself doing so over the years—marching into the throne room, holding up his hand, and blasting the man who had taken everything from him. It wouldn't have mattered to him then if he lived or died. He would have gotten his revenge.

But those desires had cooled over time, especially now that his old friend had come back to him. His friend had warned him to stay away for reasons that were logical and true, but he couldn't. He had to see the boy for himself.

He sucked in a long breath, then trudged ahead. No one would keep him from his son.


	35. Reunion

Merlin fretted through the rest of the afternoon. Sorcerers that came this close to Camelot usually harbored bad intentions. Nimueh had saved his life, but the first time he became aware of her she had attempted to poison the royal family. Merlin glanced around his room as evening approached, scanning the gifts given him. Everyone had been so kind, and he'd die before he let any harm come to them.

Merlin rose from his bed, brow furrowing in determination. He strapped on the sword Arthur had given him. He had studied enough magic, and he had adequate skill with the sword. He'd find this sorcerer and shadow him, scout out what he was up to. He threw on a thicker shirt and his heavy coat. No snow had fallen of late, but the forest would still be bitterly cold. "Nero," he commanded. The bird flew to his shoulder, then he bounded down the steps and passed through the main room.

Gaius had been called away earlier to attend someone with a sickness. Still, Merlin could hear his voice: _"You're going to confront a sorcerer on your own? Merlin, don't be foolish. Take someone with you." "There's no one to tell,"_ Merlin argued back. Gaius was out, and Lancelot had been sent by Arthur to deal with a disturbance in the lower town. Besides, he could do this on his own. He was Emrys. Time to start acting like it.

Merlin zipped down the spiral staircase and made his way to the stables. Nero took off, but Merlin knew he'd return when he had something to report. Lebryt nickered at Merlin's approach. Merlin rubbed between his horse's eyes. "We've got a job to do. You don't have to be afraid. I'll protect you."

"From what?"

Merlin jumped and whirled around to see Arthur standing in the stable doorway. "Eh...Arthur. Hey."

"What are you doing out here this late?"

Merlin glanced over the prince's shoulder at the glowing orange light tinted with red, the sun near setting. "Going to take a ride."

"In the dark?"

"I just... I thought..."

Arthur sauntered over to him, lifting his scabbard. "I know you're older now."

"Y-eah," Merlin said slowly.

"You only had to ask."

"Erm...Well..."

"You thought I'd refuse."

"I guess, yeah, I did." Merlin stared, completely unsure what in the world Arthur meant.

"If you want to join the night patrol, I'll let you."

"You're going on night patrol?" Merlin asked incredulously, but noted Arthur wore his armor and chain mail. _With a sorcerer out there! You could get killed!_

"Stop pretending you didn't know. I already said you can come, but you need to stick to the knights. No wandering off on your own and no heroics. If there's any sign of trouble, you get out of there."

"I will," Merlin promised with no intention of carrying through. He really wanted to ride by himself, but now that he knew Arthur was going out, he couldn't leave his side. If Arthur was the sorcerer's target, he'd be needed.

* * *

Arthur mounted his horse and glanced at his servant boy nearer the back of the knights. Night patrols were uncommon, but several reports of bandits had come in and Arthur had taken the initiative. This particular group of ruffians seemed to use the cover of darkness to advance their camp. Arthur planned to locate their camp, then attack at the crack of dawn.

Arthur moved anxiously forwards. He shouldn't have let Merlin come on such a dangerous mission. He'd commanded Leon to watch out for him, but still, Merlin was only fourteen, and although he was doing well in weapons training, he wasn't on par with a knight. Arthur had consented only because he understood wanting to be part of the action. He was probably about Merlin's age when he begged his father to let him go on his first patrol. Uther had chosen a tame one. Arthur had been disappointed his father didn't trust him. Now as he worried over gangly little Merlin riding along with them, he thought it more likely his father feared for his safety. Well, Merlin wouldn't be participating in the attack anyway. He'd get his taste for action by observing from the edge of it.

As they navigated a preplanned route by torch and moonlight, Arthur's mind drifted back to Merlin's first hunting trip. The naive boy had tried to rescue him from a charging boar and almost been killed. Arthur cringed as he recalled meaning to thrash the boy for his transgression. Thank the heavens Leon and Lancelot had spoken sense to him. If they hadn't, his relationship with Merlin could have been far different, the boy terrified of him. After all, he hadn't had the guts to inquire about going on patrol even when he had nothing to fear.

Arthur glanced back once more. He couldn't see the dark hair, but assured himself Merlin was in good hands. No heroics, he'd said. No trying to save me, he'd specifically meant. Merlin had demonstrated a complete lack of care for his own preservation where Arthur was concerned, and although it endeared him to the boy, Arthur thought it entirely backwards. Merlin was his servant, under his charge and care. The boy's duties didn't include dying for him. He'd have to make sure Merlin understood that before they attacked the bandits, threaten some penalty if the boy dared show his face during their strike.

* * *

Merlin kept his gaze on Arthur, except when he sent his sight out to search the forest. He tried to control the thumping fear of his heart. If the sorcerer attacked, he'd have to use his magic, and probably openly.

"Arthur won't let anyone hurt you."

Merlin looked over at Leon riding next to him.

"Your first real patrol," Leon went on. "It can make any man nervous."

It dawned on Merlin that Leon must have sensed his fear and was trying to comfort him. "I'm fine," he assured. Leon's kindly expression was shadowed in torchlight, but Merlin caught the disbelief in his eyes even so.

No, it wasn't really fine. Not just the possibility of a sorcerer out here, but the idea that Arthur wouldn't let any harm come to him. Arthur would try to protect him from any threat, even a sorcerer, but could he protect him from years of believing sorcery evil? If he ever once caught Merlin doing magic, where would that protection go? Lancelot had once said he didn't think Arthur would kill him, and Merlin didn't think that either. But if he performed magic here, in front of the knights, Arthur would have no choice but to arrest him and then what? Exile? Merlin couldn't bear that anymore than death on a chopping block.

Time felt like it crawled by, the knights keeping speaking to a minimum, Arthur's tense posture never once letting up as Merlin stared at his back. A flapping interrupted the quiet, Nero landing on Lebryt's neck. The horse shook its head, but didn't otherwise react, used to the kestrel's presence after all these months.

"Your pet," Leon commented, his tone smiling.

Merlin knew all the knights found the kestrel's love of him humorous, especially after it had been owned by the man that tried to torture him to death, or so they thought.

Merlin took a breath and held out his palm. The kestrel nestled into it. Merlin saw the sorcerer again, swathed in a cloak, a fire lit before him. He stood, angrily gesturing at the kestrel. The vision faded. Merlin stared down at Nero. _Does he know?_ Why else would he keep shooing the bird away?

Merlin sent his sight out once more. If Nero had shown him this, maybe they were close. He caught sight of the sorcerer in a moment, not too far away. Unfortunately, so did Arthur.

"Halt!" the prince called in a raspy voice. He pointed and gestured, and Merlin saw a flickering light in the distance, the telltale mark of a fire.

Arthur dismounted, everyone else following suit and gathering around him. "Tor, Baudwin, you're with me. Remember. We're just taking a look, then back." The knights nodded, following the prince into the woods, as the rest extinguished torches in wait.

Merlin stared frantically after Arthur. Leon laid a hand on his shoulder. "He'll be fine. He's just scouting it out."

Merlin sent his sight out to Arthur, creeping through the brush, then farther ahead. The sorcerer was standing and alert, peering into the woods. Merlin didn't even think about it; he dashed away into the forest, drawing his sword as he went. Leon cursed behind him.

Merlin ran as fast his long legs allowed. He slowed time to avoid obstacles as he had when he first met Arthur. He dodged branches, jumped over roots, and in no time at all had passed Arthur and the two knights.

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, giving up any pretense of secrecy.

Merlin paid no heed, rushing ahead and stumbling into the sorcerer's camp. He almost fell over as he came to a halt.

The hooded man, now brandishing a sword, tilted his head in confusion. "What are you..." He hushed, staring intently, his bushy eyebrows drawn together, as if he were trying to piece something together.

"You won't hurt Prince Arthur," Merlin declared.

The man narrowed his eyes. Crashing footfalls sounded behind Merlin and a hand grasped his arm, yanking him backwards. Arthur threw him at Leon, who took the boy by the shoulders and resisted the urge to cuff him on the back of the head.

Arthur's eyes skimmed the camp, then fixed on the man holding a sword. He kept his own drawn, but at his side. "Who are you?"

"I assume," the man ran an eye up and down his armor, "you are Prince Arthur of Camelot."

Merlin groaned in Leon's arms. How stupid. He'd completely given that fact away.

"I am. What are you doing out here alone?"

The man sheathed his sword. "I mean no harm, sire. I am a merchant headed to the capital."

"Merchant?"

The man nodded. "Would you like to see my wares?"

Arthur examined him skeptically, but made no attempt to stop him as he reached into a bag and withdrew several carved figurines. He handed one to Arthur—a dragon. Arthur stared at it, then looked up at the man. "I've seen something like this."

"Oh?"

"I have something of its like. Have you been in the capital before?"

"Many years ago."

"Did you sell these then?"

"I don't recall."

Arthur cleared his throat, handing the figurine back to the man. "Well, you won't make much selling something so impractical."

"I can carve useful objects as well."

"We're combing the woods," Arthur explained in his most authoritarian tone. "Bandits have been spotted moving about."

"There always are," the man sighed.

"It is unwise for you to travel alone."

"As unwise as it is for you to bring a boy on an expedition to hunt bandits?" Arthur raised his eyebrows at the scathing tone. The man back peddled. "Excuse me, sire." He bowed his head. "I lost my own son long ago, but the grief is ever near."

Arthur set furious eyes on Merlin. "The boy disobeyed. He was not to approach anyone like this." Merlin felt Arthur's anger without even looking at him since his own gaze was riveted on the sorcerer, trying to gauge if he was as harmless as he made himself out to be.

"If you will come with us," Arthur offered, "two of my knights will escort you to the town once we have found the bandit camp. And this _boy_ ," Arthur didn't even glance at Merlin this time, "will go with you."

The man looked back at Merlin, then to Arthur. "Thank you, sire. You are most generous."

* * *

Merlin knew he was in for it when they made it back to the knights. Arthur saw that the man, who introduced himself as Matthew, was assigned to a couple of the knights. The moment that was taken care of, he grabbed a torch, gripped Merlin by the back of his jacket, and hauled him away from everyone, pushing his back into a tree and holding him there.

"Do my orders mean nothing to you?" he hissed.

"Arthur..."

"When I tell you to do something, it's not a suggestion!"

"I know, but..."

"It's like you want to get killed!"

"I think..."

"Merlin, just shut up and listen for once!"

Merlin snapped his mouth closed.

Arthur blew out a frustrated breath. "I should put you in the stocks, have you flogged or drawn and quartered or something!" he shouted, threatening all manner of things Merlin knew he would never do. But he did shake Merlin with the hand pinning him to the tree. "Why did you do it?"

"I had a feeling, like I did with Princess Myrine."

Arthur drew his hand back. "A feeling?"

"Something's not right with that merchant."

"How did you even know who was out there?"

Merlin swallowed. "I...didn't. But it was only one fire...at least, it didn't seem like much...I didn't think it was bandits...And, I don't know, I just, well, you were going there and..."

"I order you to _stop_ trying to help me or save me or anything."

"Arthur..."

Arthur pulled him away from the tree and drew him close to look in his eyes. "No more. Do you understand? The next time you do, there will be a consequence and it won't be pleasant."

Merlin lowered his eyes.

Arthur sighed. "I don't _want_ to say any of this, but you're making me. I don't know how to rein you in otherwise! And I do want you on more patrols in the future."

"Alright, Arthur," the boy spoke humbly, then raised pleading eyes. "But something's still wrong with the merchant. I know it. Just trust me. Please."

* * *

Arthur kept glancing back at the merchant they'd met. The man didn't seem like much of a threat. He was almost as skinny as Merlin, though his movements hinted at a wiry energy. He bore himself with confidence, unruffled by the formidable warriors surrounding him. Arthur thought he must be experienced in fighting, though why a wood carver would have that ability he didn't know.

Merlin also kept the merchant in his sights, maneuvering his horse to peer intently at him. If he tried anything, Merlin was ready. He wouldn't know what hit him.

They arrived at the end of the patrol's route and Arthur turned his horse. They'd discovered nothing but one solitary merchant. Apparently these bandits were as experienced and sneaky as the witnesses described. He grumbled inside and called a halt. The moon had hidden behind clouds, making too dark to accomplish much of anything. They might as well set up for the night.

Arthur moved to the merchant and the two knights with him. "I'm afraid I've forced you out of your way."

Matthew shrugged. "Nothing much has been lost."

"I'd send you back, but it's grown too dark."

"So it has."

"Will you stay with us?"

"Gladly."

Arthur met his knights' eyes and they understood he meant them to stick with the man throughout the night.

The camp was set up in no time, a fire kindled and a stew prepared from fresh meat supplied by the kitchens rumbling bellies as its aroma wafted throughout the clearing. Merlin stuck close to Arthur, occupying a log along with him and Leon. Both the prince and the servant regarded the merchant who had ambled over to the fire with his shadow knights.

"What do you think of our guest?" Arthur asked Leon.

Leon peered across at the man, chatting easily with those gathered around the fire. "Commoner by the clothing. Skilled by the wares. Lonely. Sad."

Arthur frowned. "And how do you judge those last two?"

"I've known what it is to carry pain and pretend to others there is none. It's in his eyes."

Merlin remembered the man had said he lost his son. He felt suddenly guilty for assuming the man possibly evil. He no real evidence to support his worries.

Arthur nudged Merlin with his elbow. "Still have that feeling?"

Merlin quirked his lips. "I'm not sure," he admitted.

Arthur shook his head, more inclined to think Merlin was just prone to pessimism when his life was involved, though he had been right about Myrine's token.

* * *

Soon the stew had been ladled out and handed around. Everyone ate eagerly, all but Matthew, Merlin noticed as he let Nero consume the leftovers from his bowl. The merchant sat several feet from the fire, huddled with his cloak wrapped around him, his "guards" beside him. Merlin was just thinking to maybe go up and engage him in conversation when magic rippled through his blood, a sudden warmth running along his veins. He gasped, goosebumps puckering along his arms.

He heard a thump. One of the knights had pitched over next to Matthew. Soon others joined him. Merlin whipped his head back and forth as one by one they keeled over. He turned to Arthur in alarm. Leon had already slipped off the log. Arthur was blinking and shaking his head to focus. "You," he mumbled. He stood and drew his sword, but the action was slow and labored.

Merlin followed Arthur's gaze to Matthew, now standing, his blue eyes reflecting firelight. Arthur made to charge him, but fell to his knees.

"Arthur!" Merlin called. He forced himself to stand despite the tingling magic surging like waves all over his body.

Matthew had approached, leaning over Arthur. He grasped the prince's breastplate and lifted him up, eyes boring into him. "No Pendragon will steal my son." Arthur didn't struggle. His eyes rolled back and his head lolled.

Merlin screamed, despair curling his insides. He hadn't used his magic when it really mattered. He raised his hands, anguished eyes flashing gold. Matthew tumbled away from Arthur, landing on his stomach. His hood had come loose and he shook his long, dark hair as he pushed up onto his feet. He didn't seem surprised when he faced Merlin.

"Your blood is different," the merchant commented, his voice tense, but calm.

Merlin's cheeks grew wet. "You killed them!"

"They're not dead."

"What?"

"They sleep."

"Why did you do this?"

"It's safer this way."

"Safer?"

"Your place is with me. Not here amongst them."

Merlin drew his sword, his hand trembling as he held it aloft. "Don't come near me."

"I won't hurt you."

"I've been told that before by a sorcerer. He lied."

"I'm no sorcerer."

"Nero saw you... Nero!" Merlin rushed over to the bird, lying as silent as the knights. He cupped a hand to his breast to confirm he lived.

"I can tell you who you are, Merlin." Matthew's voice had changed, soft and pleading. "Where you come from."

Merlin looked over at him. "Who are you?"

Matthew lifted his chin. "I'm your father."


	36. Flesh and Blood

Merlin didn't reply for for a moment, assessing this man claiming to be his father. No. He lied. Just like most of the sorcerers he'd met. This was a trick for some darker purpose.

"You're not my father!" Merlin retorted, his shaking hand pointing with his sword to the bodies on the ground. "My father was a good man. Gaius told me so. He wouldn't do what you've done!"

"Merlin..."

"My mother told me he was kind and helped people."

"Merlin..."

"Stop saying my name!" Merlin shrieked, his sword bouncing in his grip.

Matthew's voice grew even more soft. "How is your mother?"

"You don't know her."

"I did."

"Shut up!"

"Her eyes are like the sky on a winter's day. Her hair dark and silky to the touch. Warmth and fearlessness are in her heart." Matthew locked eyes with him. "And I loved her. I still love her."

"You're just guessing," Merlin accused, his voice breaking.

"Does she still sew in the chair carved with wildflowers? It was my first gift to her."

Merlin's chin trembled. All his life he'd adored that chair, running his fingers over the delicate carving. His mother had said it was a gift long ago from a dear friend. "You can't be Balinor," he whispered. "You can't."

Matthew moved towards him.

Merlin's arm ached from squeezing his sword so tightly. "No closer."

Matthew ignored his stammering order. He reached out and pulled the sword from his hands. Merlin began to fall. Matthew caught him, easing him to his knees. "I wasn't sure how the drug would affect you."

Merlin shuddered, overwhelmed by emotion and his magic churning still.

"But I intended no harm. These knights will awake."

"Why did you do it?" Merlin murmured.

"I could not go back to Camelot, not after I had been seen, and especially by the young Pendragon. I could not risk my appearance getting back to King Uther."

"He hates you."

"You know then?"

"Gaius said I couldn't tell anyone you were my father." Merlin looked up at him. Balinor had kept his hand on his back, moving it gently in circles. "You really are my father."

Balinor nodded.

So many questions tumbled through Merlin's mind, but not a one made it to his tongue as Balinor spoke.

"I have come to take you with me. To tell you who you are and show you what your life can be."

Merlin moved his gaze to the lifeless Arthur. "But Arthur..."

"Is a Pendragon," Balinor finished. "Do you pretend he cares about you? If he knew for a moment who you were, he would kill you."

"He wouldn't," Merlin disagreed.

Balinor gripped his chin and turned him to meet his eyes. "I thought I could trust Uther. He deceived me."

"Arthur isn't like Uther."

The hand on his chin tightened. "Don't deceive yourself, Merlin. Their tolerance has limits."

"But..."

"I know what Kilgharrah has told you. He is wrong."

Tears sprang up in Merlin's eyes. "I'm...Emrys."

Balinor blinked slowly. "Come with me. I will explain and you will understand."

"Arthur."

"Let the prince return to his father. Let them wage war without you."

Merlin stared at Arthur's still form. All those dreams of The Dragon Man had been real. Arthur did exist. And Arthur had been nothing but good to him. He wouldn't ever kill him. "I can't leave him," he whispered.

Balinor sighed. He dropped Merlin's chin and stood, his face grim. "I am sorry. I did not wish to do this." He began to chant in the deep, strange language Aredian had used.

Merlin slid backwards on his knees, fearing whatever power Balinor possessed. A loud flapping sound drew his attention and he stared wide-eyed. "Kilgharrah."

The golden scaled dragon winged his way downwards. Merlin cried out and ducked down when it looked like the dragon would land right on top of him. Instead he felt himself lifted from the ground, and he gasped as the land below grew smaller and smaller. He was locked in Kilgharrah's claws. He tried to stammer out something, but fear silenced his voice. He gripped Kilgharrah's ankle and closed his eyes, praying he didn't fall.

* * *

Balinor settled on the log Merlin had occupied. He pulled a small piece of parchment from his bag and scratched away with a quill. He didn't write much, only a few sentences. He rewrapped the quill and placed it back in his bag, then knelt next to Prince Arthur. He ran an eye over the young man. The last time he had seen him he'd been a child.

Balinor rubbed at the left side of his chest. Turbulent memories played through his mind—magic used against him, Kilgharrah chained, himself threatened, then... Balinor stopped rubbing. His face hardened. No matter how innocent he looked asleep, the prince was his father's son. He'd marched on Druid camps and killed their inhabitants. He didn't deserve Merlin's devotion.

Balinor put a hand to his boot, feeling his dagger. How easy it would be to just stick the prince in the gut now. How would Uther feel, losing his own son? Perhaps a fraction of the grief he'd felt all these years. Balinor's breath stuck in his throat. He slowly stood. His nature fought him too strongly.

He rolled the parchment, then stuffed it into the top of the prince's breastplate where he would be sure to find it.

* * *

Merlin shivered. Bitter currents had whipped over him as Kilgharrah flew, and now as the dragon landed high on a mountain, releasing him, he curled up, quivering like a leaf fluttering in a winter breeze. He heard a rush of breath and a warmth covered him like a blanket then seeped through his skin, banishing the cold.

Merlin shifted, turning his head to find Kilgharrah above him, eyes fixed intently on him. "Kilgharrah. Please, help me." The dragon said nothing, but such sadness pierced his gaze, Merlin didn't speak another word. Kilgharrah waddled away from him to the end of the ledge and lifted back into the sky. He disappeared into the dark.

Merlin stood, wrapping his arms around himself. The warmth was fading, howling wind threatening his comfort. A ball of light lit up his hand and he stepped carefully toward the ledge, looking down. His stomach lurched at the sheer drop off and he backed away. He walked the length of the ledge, seeing no way down. He extended his light and discovered a large gaping maw at his back. He gathered his courage and moved inside the cave.

Not too far inside the cavern grew wider, but a tunnel to his left caught his eye when he perceived a flickering glow at its end. Merlin crept through it until he reached a smaller chamber. His brows raised in surprise. The rocky space was decorated like a room, containing a simple bed, a table, a chair, and three wooden chests. A fire danced in the middle of it all and Merlin looked up at the smoke exiting far above through a hole in the ceiling. It reminded him of his home in Ealdor.

Merlin moved near the fire to warm up, but kept glancing around at his surroundings. His father must live here. How long had he been here? An idea came to him and he glanced back at the tunnel. He should take advantage of the time. Learn all he could about this man who had spirited him away. Maybe find a weakness.

He knelt in front of the chests and lifted a lid. Several pieces of clothing lay inside, some unexpectedly fine. He turned to the next chest. It contained several rolled scrolls. He opened one, and even though Morgana had taught him much about language, he couldn't understand the writing. He moved to the third, and this one held his attention.

He pulled a carved box out of the clutter. Opening it, he found a series of letters. He withdrew one and startled to sense his mother's voice from the first line: _My precious Balinor, My heart cannot be full when you are gone. Every night I pray you will come back to me safely. I do not know where your mission has taken you, but know I wait every moment for your return._ Merlin read on, feeling the love of his mother's words. He skimmed through the rest of the letters, each expressing such tenderness and intimacy.

Footsteps echoed outside the chamber. Merlin piled the letters back into the box and set it in the chest, closing it as quickly as he could. He ran to the fire, snatching a blanket from the chair as he went. He swaddled himself and lay down, closing his eyes.

The footfalls stilled. Merlin barely cracked his eyes to catch Balinor standing in the entrance. He breathed deeply, hoping to appear asleep. The footsteps came near his form. "Sleep well, my son. There is so much for you to learn."

The steps moved away. Merlin's heart pounded, the letters he'd read tormenting him. His mother had loved this man. She would never have chosen someone wicked. Could he trust this man he had never known like she had once?

Merlin stifled a moan. Arthur. What did it matter if the man in this chamber was his father? He wouldn't stay. He couldn't. He was meant to be with Arthur, and nothing would ever change that.

* * *

"My lord?"

Arthur blinked a couple times at the weak morning light. His head ached, his mouth was dry as sand, and his eyes prickled. He rubbed at them and tried to sit up. A hand aided him.

"Slowly, sire."

A wave of nausea brought sweat to his face, and he dug his palms into the ground at his sides, willing back the urge to vomit. "Leon," he whispered.

"Sire?"

"Is Merlin alright?"

Leon didn't answer right away. Arthur turned his head to the older knight sitting next to him, pale faced and pinching his lips together as if he, too, fought queasiness. Arthur glanced around the clearing at knights awaking as he, many losing the stew they'd eaten.

"He's...not here," Leon informed him.

Arthur swallowed another threat from the food roiling in his stomach and forced himself to stand.

"Sire, wait." Leon climbed to his feet, stumbling after his king who moved back to the log they had been sitting on before they collapsed.

Arthur went to his knees. He reached down and Leon knelt next to him, peering at him to see him clutching Merlin's pet kestrel.

"Is the bird..."

"Alive," Arthur confirmed. He worked to keep his tone neutral. "He wouldn't leave Nero. He was taken by force." _Not to mention, he wouldn't leave me._

"Most likely," Leon agreed.

Arthur looked back at the knights in the camp. "See to them. Bring me a report."

Leon struggled to his feet and began moving from man to man. Arthur turned his attention to Nero, stroking the bird's soft breast. A thought occurred to him and he stood, cradling Nero in the crook of his right arm as he shuffled over to the horses. Lebryt was still here. He lost his footing and sank down among the horses, breathing deeply to regain his composure.

He fought the haze of his mind, recalling the merchant standing, unaffected, realizing he must have done this to them, thinking that once again, Merlin had been right. Merlin. The merchant had said something, something about stealing, about... Arthur clenched his jaw. He'd said a Pendragon wouldn't steal his son. Could he have really been Merlin's father?

Arthur balled his fists. What right had this man to come and take Merlin as if the boy was an object? It was then he felt something brushing his chin. He glanced down at a piece of parchment peeking out of his breastplate. He lay the kestrel gently on the ground, then pulled out the parchment and unrolled it. A fine handwriting met his eye.

 _Merlin is my son. I guarantee no harm will come to him. Do not search for him. You will not find him. He is no longer your concern._ There was no signature.

"Sire?"

Arthur looked up to find Leon leaning over him. "My men?"

"Most are waking. A few are not and their breathing is labored. Some are very weak." He held out his palm in front of Arthur who beheld a piece of cloth tied with a small string stained by the stew. "A medicine that tainted the stew."

Arthur picked up the cloth and ground his jaw. The merchant promised Merlin's safety, but what did they know about Merlin's father, after all? Arthur and Merlin never talked much about their missing parents, but Arthur could tell when the subject did arise that it was sensitive for the boy. They certainly both shared the desire to know the parent that had left them behind. But who could have expected this? Merlin's father a ruffian, a hoodlum, drugging them to take back what he thought he owned. This was not a man to be trusted.

Arthur began to rise and Leon offered him a hand. Arthur heard a rustle and looked down; Nero was waking. He picked up the bird lightly in his hands. His expression grew angry. "How many of the knights are travel worthy?"

Leon knit his brow, thinking. "Perhaps six." They hadn't been a large contingent in the first place.

"Take those that need Gaius back to Camelot."

Leon firmed his jaw. "You're going to look for Merlin."

Arthur nodded succinctly.

"What do I tell your father?"

"It's too late to stop me." Arthur stomped away towards the camp. The merchant may be Merlin's father, but he hadn't acted like one. He'd been absent Merlin's entire life, and he had no right to the boy. He hadn't been the one to teach him and care for him and make sure he was provided for. Merlin was _his_ responsibility and by the gods, he'd get him back.

* * *

"Morning," Merlin heard Balinor say when he stirred before the fire. It took Merlin but a moment to remember what had happened. He abruptly sat up, turning with ferocity, a night of rest restoring his vigor.

"Take me back," Merlin demanded.

"I won't do that," Balinor said from his seat on the bed, not harshly, but with a sorrowful tone.

Merlin ground his jaw. "Arthur is my destiny." His feelings may have been conflicted over his father last night, but morning brought utter clarity.

Balinor drew in a long breath. "Arthur is the son of a bitter king who kills without thought. And as I have heard, hates magic as much as his father."

"He's changing."

Balinor slowly stood. "This is not an argument I want to have with you. You cannot understand until you learn."

"Where is Kilgharrah?"

"Outside."

Merlin sent one last scathing glare at Balinor, stood, and bolted for the tunnel.

"He can't help you. I told him not to. And he _will_ obey me."

Merlin looked back at his father in betrayal.

Balinor sighed. "Merlin, try to hear me. You are far more than you understand. Magic is deeply interwoven into your blood and soul, but you are even more. There are things you can do and responsibilities that must be laid upon your shoulders. You cannot take them up if you remain in Camelot." He reached out a hand that held a bowl of steaming grain. "Let me tell you. Give me a chance to show you, then you may make your choice and return to Camelot if you must."

Merlin stared at the man. He supposed he did share some resemblance with him—the dark hair, high cheekbones, angular face, blue eyes. Though Merlin's eyes were lighter. More like his mother... What Balinor said, it was fair. And he did have questions, so very many.

Merlin shuffled over to Balinor, taking the bowl and slumping down into the chair.

* * *

Morgana ran a brush through her hair, smiling at herself in a small mirror. She fingered the golden trim at the neckline of the green dress she wore. Lancelot always liked her in this dress. She planned to "happen to pass by" the knights' training. Arthur had taken off on night patrol, leaving his friend to lead the training if he didn't return until the next day.

Lancelot had come by to see her after dealing with an issue in the lower town, some disgruntled disturbance between two rival factions in the blacksmith's guild. He was worn, dirty, and tired, but reported success. He'd refused to hold her and smudge her with his sweat and grime, but had fixed her with glinting eyes. Today she'd make sure the only desire that filled him was to find her after the training.

The door to her chamber opened, and she turned to see Gwen, the girl clothed in pale pink, a color that suited her. Morgana smiled to herself. "Arthur comes back today."

Gwen nodded, averting her eyes as she proceeded to make the bed. "He does."

"You're beautiful, Gwen."

Gwen busied herself with the sheets. "Not like you, my lady."

"Oh, stop," Morgana protested, turning in her seat. "What is beauty, Gwen?"

Gwen turned as she fluffed a pillow. "You, my lady."

Morgana laughed. "It's a gift of happenstance. And it matters little in the end."

"You don't like your beauty?" Gwen sounded shocked.

"Yes...and no." Morgana lowered her eyes.

Gwen laid the pillow on the bed and reached down to pull up the coverlet. "What do you mean?"

Morgana twisted her hands in her lap. "Sometimes it's all people see, especially men. When they come to a feast, when they meet me in the hall, what do they think I am? A beautiful woman and nothing else."

"That can't be true."

"It's true. Their eyes rove over me like I'm a jewel from the vaults." Morgana looked back into the mirror, meeting her own gaze. "But I'm so much more."

Gwen stepped up to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. "I know you are, my lady. You are kind and intelligent and brave, and I'm not the only one who knows. I don't think Lancelot..."

Morgana looked at Gwen in the mirror when she broke off. "What?"

Gwen smiled gently. "I don't think it would matter to him what a woman looked like if she had a beautiful soul."

Morgana raised her hand to take hold of Gwen's at her shoulder. "You have a pure heart, Gwen. Strength and boldness under that tender exterior of yours. Arthur sees that. He loves it."

Gwen smiled at her gratefully. The chamber door opened again, and they both turned. Morgana stood, surprised to behold one of the men they had just been discussing. "Lancelot?"

The knight peered from Morgana to Gwen. "Most of Arthur's patrol returned this morning."

"Most?" Morgana questioned as Gwen gripped her arm.

"They met a man who set something in their food, put them to sleep."

"Arthur?" Gwen asked.

"He's alive."

"Is he with Gaius?"

"He didn't come back."

"Why?" Morgana asked.

"When they awoke, Merlin was gone. This man apparently took him... And..."

Gwen's hold tightened on Morgana. "Arthur is going after him."

Lancelot nodded. "Of course. But Leon said the man claims he is Merlin's father."

Gwen stared. "His father?"

"Yes. I thought you would want to know." He looked worried, but pressed on. "I am expected at training."

"Yes," Morgana murmured.

The knight bowed his head and left, shutting the door.

Gwen moved to sit on the bed. "Merlin..." That boy! Always in trouble. Taking off after sorceresses, getting put in the stocks, kidnapped, falling out of trees—he couldn't let her rest for one minute! "Why is it always Merlin?"

Morgana shook her head. Merlin. Again. From the time he'd arrived, everything had changed around here. He'd become some kind of focal point for them all. Morgana twisted the bracelet on her wrist. She bit her lip. She'd dreamed about Merlin twice, and when he was around, she sensed a connection, like they were two old souls that had known each other since time immemorial. Such a silly thing, but she couldn't help it. And she couldn't help thinking that if she didn't have Merlin, something within her would break.


	37. Guardians

"He said he was Merlin's father?" Gaius asked.

"In a note left behind," Leon clarified.

Gaius sank heavily into a seat. The last knight that had returned from Arthur's patrol had left his chambers except for Sir Leon. He had checked them over and found them mostly unharmed. A few needed cold compresses and medication to bring them back to themselves, but it was simple work. Now as the crisis of the moment dissolved, he slipped into confusion and worry.

"He was a merchant?"

Leon nodded.

"Of what?"

"Woodworking, I believe."

"What did he look like?"

Leon regarded the physician warily. "You don't mean to join in the search?"

"I think I could accomplish little that our prince couldn't. I am, however, concerned for Merlin's safety."

Leon pressed his lips together in compassion for the old man. "He was tall, thin, dark of hair, blue eyed."

Gaius put a hand to his chin. It could indeed be Balinor.

"He seemed sad. Lonely, perhaps. Do you think he is Merlin's father?"

"It's possible," Gaius conceded what he actually felt to be a certainty. "Merlin knows little about the man."

Leon stood, his shoulders drooped in defeat. "If Arthur does bring him back, I fear I have failed Merlin irregardless."

"Oh?"

"His kestrel. It fed off his plate and fell as we all did. Prince Arthur asked me to bring it home to wait for Merlin, but it revived and I'm afraid flew away before I could restrain it."

Gaius smiled softly. "Don't fear then. It's always been able to find its way to Merlin wherever he is."

Leon sighed. "If only we could fly, Gaius." He laid a comforting hand on the physician's shoulder, then departed.

Gaius remained in his seat. That Balinor lived pleased him, but that he had carried out such a drastic action to acquire Merlin disturbed him. The man he had known wouldn't have done such a thing. Gaius rubbed at his forehead. Then again, if what had happened to Balinor happened to him, perhaps he would have acted the same.

"Gaius?"

The physician looked to his doorway. "Gwen. Come in."

The maid entered tentatively, her expression distressed. "You know about Merlin?"

Gaius nodded.

Gwen moved a chair to sit next to him. "Arthur's gone after him."

"So I hear."

"Do you think Merlin is in danger?"

Gaius pursed his lips as he thought. He would have said "no" if you'd asked him a day ago. Now he wasn't so sure. "I don't think so." In his heart of hearts, he just couldn't believe Balinor would hurt his son.

Gwen put a reassuring hand on the physician's arm. "I thought, since Morgana let me go for the day, I could help you. Until Merlin returns."

Gaius looked into Gwen's hopeful eyes and patted her hand. "Arthur will return as well."

Gwen worried her lip. "I know he will."

Gaius reached over to a bundle of herbs. "Crush these, then."

She nodded and stood to fetch the mortar and pestle. She could do nothing this time but wait and hope that Arthur and Merlin returned to them safe and sound. But Gaius feared another result—that once Merlin learned who his father really was, Arthur would ride through the gates of Camelot absent the boy they'd all come to know and love.

* * *

Arthur trudged along, skimming every leaf and stick in his path. He knelt down, scrutinizing the ground, a growl vocalizing his frustration.

"Sire?"

"What?" he snapped at the knight behind him.

"We...we've been looking for some time. Perhaps..."

Arthur stood and rounded on the knight. "And what do you propose, Sir Baudwin?"

The knight, a newer recruit, swallowed but admirably raised his chin boldly. "If I may speak freely, sire."

Arthur had no wish to endure the free words of anyone right now, but his own words constrained him. He'd always assured his knights they had his ear at any time. "Out with it, then."

"We've seen no evidence in any part of the woods. I think we cannot find the boy."

"So you suggest we abandon Merlin."

"We could...send more knights back."

Arthur scanned the faces of his knights. "You may return to the castle." Many looked relieved Arthur had seen sense. "I will continue the search alone."

Baudwin gaped. "Sire, I didn't mean..."

"Go back!" Arthur shouted.

"We cannot leave you, my lord."

"And I cannot leave Merlin, so it seems none of you can either! Nevertheless, I command you to leave. I do not want men along with me who have no heart for even the least of my kingdom."

Arthur cringed at the wounded looks on several knights' faces. He'd gone too far. He clenched his jaw for a moment, letting his mind gain purchase over his emotion. He spoke more calmly. "Go back if you wish. Follow me. It doesn't matter to me what you choose."

He stamped away back into the trees and after a moment heard six sets of feet following. He was glad of their loyalty, but inside his mind whirled with the truth Sir Baudwin had spoken. They had found nothing, no indication that Merlin had been dragged away, that anyone had moved through this distant place of the forest.

Arthur balled his fists. He needed to trust Merlin more. He stifled a moan as he recalled the boy in the stocks, punished on his orders because of an enchantment he suspected. Merlin seemed to have some sixth sense when something was amiss. He should have listened to him and shadowed the merchant himself.

Arthur punched one hand into the other. The merchant had drugged them, but surely a man wouldn't harm his son, would he? And Hunith hadn't seemed the kind of woman to link herself to a ruffian. Then again, she had demonstrated ill judgment in studying magic. She hadn't told Merlin much about his father, and no wonder if the man was like this. Perhaps she hid her own mistake of choosing an unworthy man to knit herself to.

Arthur angrily shoved aside a curtain of moss in his way. How had this man found out about Merlin? And why come after him now? Arthur's hand went to his hilt. Whatever this man's designs, come hell or high water, he would find Merlin, and make it clear that shared blood did not constitute an undeniable claim to the boy.

* * *

Morgana made her way to the training yard when the knights in the armory informed her Lancelot had lingered after their practice. Grunts and familiar thuds of a sword sounded as she turned a corner to behold the man she loved drenched in sweat beating a dummy as if it had deeply offended him. He didn't notice her, his eyes ablaze as he whacked away.

"Lancelot," she called out. He didn't hear, continuing to slash and thrust. "Lancelot!"

He stopped, lowering his sword to turn to her. She met pained eyes. His chest heaved as he regained his breath. "Why are you here?"

She ignored his question. "Is this about Merlin?"

Lancelot paced to a rack, replacing his practice sword. "I should have been with them."

"You're blaming yourself for this?" Morgana asked incredulously. Lancelot made to walk away, but Morgana gripped his wrist. "This isn't your fault."

"Merlin's out there with this man _claiming_ to be his father. Who knows what could be happening to him," Lancelot protested.

"Arthur won't stop until he brings him back. Like he did with the witchfinder."

Lancelot clenched his jaw. "Fathers don't give up their children easily."

Morgana stared into his eyes, realization dawning on her. "This isn't just about Merlin. It's about your father." Lancelot pulled away from her, moving back towards the castle. She ran to catch up to him. "Talk to me."

"And say what?"

"What's in your mind, your heart."

Lancelot guffawed. "You don't want to know that."

"I do." Morgana slipped her hand into his. "I know what he did to you."

Lancelot threw his other hand in the air. "Oh, yes. Everyone knew. No one did anything about it. Least of all the king."

Morgana scanned the area. A few passing servants had noticed them and glanced hurriedly away. "You can't talk like that out here," she hissed.

"Why? Because it will embarrass the great king Uther?"

Morgana pulled Lancelot along, stepping through a side door to a vacant hall. "I've never seen you like this." She meant to reflect concern, but her tone came out as an accusation.

Lancelot jerked his hand away from her.

"You don't know that Merlin's father is like yours."

"He drugged Arthur and our men! You assume he's all sweetness and sympathy?"

"Lancelot..."

The knight jabbed a finger at her. "You don't know! Don't pretend you do!"

Morgana scowled at him. "And you don't know what it's like to have a loving father ripped from your arms without even a good-bye! But you don't see me accusing you for it!"

Lancelot lowered his shaking arm. He looked away. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

Morgana moved over to lock her arm in his as he leaned against the wall. "You can tell me anything, you know that."

Lancelot wiped at his brow. "I don't think there's an inch of me he didn't bruise at one time or another." He laughed mirthlessly. "Mother went to Uther, begging him to intervene. He talked to my father. I got the worst beating of my life that night. He almost killed me. I was laid up for weeks."

Morgana sucked in a breath. "They said you broke your leg while riding." She remembered the time she hadn't seen Lancelot for more than a month. She rested her head against his shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

"You didn't do it. You have nothing to feel sorry for."

"I'm sorry it happened at all."

Lancelot brushed a hand over his eyes and gripped her hand. "If this man is Merlin's father and he's willing to hurt others to get him..."

Morgana squeezed his arm, the unspoken truth hitting her like a punch to the gut, images of Merlin beaten and bruised taunting her mind. If only she had a way to find him herself.

* * *

Merlin spooned grainy porridge into his mouth, staring through its steam at the man sitting across from him. His stomach twisted with a jumble of emotions he couldn't put words to. He had longed to meet the man in front of him, and now that he had, he wasn't sure he wanted to be anywhere near him.

Balinor set his bowl down on the floor. "Do you want to move closer to the fire?"

Merlin shook his head.

"How much has your mother told you about me?"

Merlin shrugged. "Just you helped people during the Purge. Uther made you leave her."

"And Gaius?"

"You were his friend." Merlin swallowed another bite. "They didn't tell me much."

Balinor drew in a long preparatory breath. "Then I suppose I need to start at the beginning."

Merlin chewed slowly, eyes intent on his father.

"I grew up in Camelot when magic was practiced freely. The king before Uther believed in making a strong kingdom using every means available, including magic. Magic flourished. _I_ flourished."

Merlin's brow furrowed. He'd copied history assigned by Morgana. He knew about King Constans, but the books said he let magic run rampant to his detriment.

Balinor smiled sadly. "What you could have been if you'd been raised then."

 _I'm still Emrys_ , Merlin grumbled inside.

"But then the court split into factions. The knights chose a side and a leader, Uther Pendragon, and as you know, he took the throne. He, too, employed magic, perhaps a bit more judiciously until..." he paused to stare pointedly at his son, "the prince was born. Uther's queen died and he turned his grief towards magic."

"I know this," Merlin spoke quietly.

Balinor looked away, his tone becoming bitter. " _King_ Uther began to tear down what he called the evils of magic, and his hand grew heavier each year. Those targeted fled, and there were those of us who viewed it as our duty to aid them, get them out of the kingdom. One of our resting places was a home in Ealdor."

Merlin stirred in his seat. "My mother."

Balinor nodded. "She was brave. She felt for the people escaping Camelot. Confronted with a dying man, she gave refuge to him. Word of her compassion traveled and more appeared on her doorstep. We became aware we had a friend in Ealdor, and I was charged to lead an escaping family there."

Merlin's brows met in confusion. "The elders weren't bothered by that?"

Balinor smiled. "The elders didn't know. Refugees arrived at night and stayed only until early morning. Your mother fed them and gave them drink, sustaining them for further journeys." His eyes shone. "I remember sitting at her table, amazed a slight farming woman had such strength in her heart. I began to guide more to her door, just so I could sit and watch her. And over time, we began to care for each other."

Merlin bit his lip when tears appeared in his father's eyes.

"It was some good in the midst of dark days." He wiped at his eyes, then fixed his gaze on Merlin. "I'll never forget the day your mother drew me into a corner and told me she was with child."

Merlin's stomach dropped. "You knew?"

"I was pleased. And it was then I determined that peace must be had in Camelot. I could not let my child grow up in fear." Balinor's gaze hardened. "I sought out Druid friends, forged alliances, and sent messages to Uther, begging for negotiation, an end to hostilities and the kingdom's pain. But he did not listen."

"You knew about me," Merlin stated, still stuck on this point.

"Yes."

"How could you leave?"

"Let me finish."

Merlin set his bowl down and stood. "Were you there when I was born?"

Balinor nodded.

"And then you left me? You left _us_?"

Balinor stared up at his son. "I did not want to. By the gods, I swear it was not by choice. Uther was hunting me. And when he found me in..."

"You could have taken us with you!"

"And force you and your mother into a life of constant flight?"

"We would have been together."

"I wouldn't do that to you or her. I loved you too much."

Merlin's chest ached in anger. "Some kind of love," he spat out sarcastically.

Balinor now stood, his eyes flashing. "You weren't there. You don't understand."

Merlin's chin trembled. "I understand you left us alone."

"Listen to me."

Merlin turned to move away and Balinor grabbed his arm. "Let go of me!"

"You _will_ listen. I'm your father."

"You're not my father! You've never been one! Take me back to Camelot."

"Merlin..."

"Take me back!"

"Not until you hear it all."

Merlin wrenched his hand out of Balinor's grip and ran to the tunnel, ignoring Balinor shouting after him. He backtracked the way he had come, exiting onto the blustery ledge. Kilgharrah had been lying there and rose when he appeared.

"Kilgharrah!" Merlin called out. "I want to go home."

The dragon stared at him with intense yellow eyes.

"Help me! I need to go now."

"Kilgharrah!" Balinor shouted when he reached the ledge. The dragon turned its head to Balinor. They met each other's gaze as if playing a game of "who could look away first." Balinor apparently won when Kilgharrah turned away.

"Come back inside," Balinor demanded, turning to his son.

Merlin backed away. "I listened to you. Now send me back to Arthur."

"I need you here."

"You said you'd let me go!"

"Not yet."

"Argh!" Merlin's eyes flamed gold as he threw his hands out. Balinor tumbled, slamming into Kilgharrah who remained as immobile as a stone wall.

Balinor recovered, standing with a furious expression. He stalked towards Merlin who moved back, suddenly fearful. He hadn't really meant to attack his father; he was just so angry. Balinor grabbed his arm and dragged him back towards the cave.

Merlin struggled until Balinor dropped him to the ground in the large cavern.

"It's a serious thing to use your magic to harm others!" Balinor reprimanded. He crouched down next to Merlin.

Merlin scoffed. "Says a man who drugs my friends."

Balinor grabbed his shoulders. Merlin pushed against him, but Balinor held fast. "Your mother struggled for hours to bring you into this world. I held her hand as she writhed in agony."

Merlin stilled, looking up into eyes brimming with tears.

"We thought you might not make it, or she would perish. Then your cry filled the house, strong and solid. I'd never felt such pride, and never will again. And when I left Ealdor, for years my hands ached with grief whenever I thought of the last time I held you. I _wanted_ to raise you. To teach you and tell you everything."

Merlin choked down a breath, his own eyes filling with tears.

"The best part of me died the day I left you behind." Balinor shifted his hands, gripping behind Merlin's neck. "Now you're here. And I can finally tell you who you really are."

Tears slipped down Merlin's cheeks. "They...they called me bastard. They called my mother..." He couldn't bring himself to voice the words that rang in his ears even now.

Balinor spoke through a strained sob. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Give me a chance, Merlin, to make it right between us. Please."

Merlin slumped into Balinor's shoulder, and the man he'd never known as father wrapped his arms around him as they both wept over a lost past.

* * *

Kilgharrah's eyes were closed, but his mind awake, listening to Merlin's distressed thoughts. He hated to be so close to the warlock but unable to speak. His will had been countermanded and thus he was forced to observe Emrys' sufferings without comment. Anger burned in his heart that his view on the matters had been silenced.

The old dragon heard a weak flapping and prickly feet perch on his head. They were quite high up, but not so high that an eagle or falcon didn't find its way to the ledge. As a rule, dragons and birds were friends, but that didn't mean being stamped about the head was any more comfortable. Kilgharrah shook his head back and forth to dislodge the unwelcome guest.

A thump informed him the bird had landed by his front feet, but he didn't hear it fly off. His eyelids cracked to slits, and he rolled his left eye to a brown and white feathered creature. Startled, he raised his head. "You."

He reached out with his paw to draw the bird close. It shivered. It should never have come this high. Kilgharrah blew warmth onto it, then slid it close to his breast secreted in his paw. His eyes gleamed. He may have been commanded not to talk to or obey Emrys, but Balinor had said nothing about the warlock's kestrel.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I want to again express my gratitude to those who have followed, favorited, and messaged me about this fic. I love the Merlin fandom. I was so surprised to find it so very strong still, and I love sharing the love of Merlin with all of you. I want to also let you know that I only post my fan stories on this site. A reader recently discovered that my work had been copied and posted on another site. If you ever see my work on another site, be aware it is not me. This incident made me all the more grateful for my loyal readers. I love you all!


	38. The Last Dragonlord

"Again? He's gone after the boy again?"

Gaius bent his head in affirmation to Uther. He had been crossing the courtyard when the king's entourage had returned. He'd greeted him and decided the news of current events would come better from him than a knight.

Uther scowled, pacing back and forth in the council room they occupied. "This boy stirs up more trouble than he's worth."

"Merlin cannot be held at fault for the witchfinder's actions against him."

Uther ground his jaw.

"Nor for the merchant who has taken him now."

"What does a merchant want with him?"

Gaius tried to still his troubled mind. Uther would know the truth soon enough since Sir Leon had read the note, but if the king guessed the man's identity and Merlin did return, the boy would be in much danger. "He left a note claiming to be Merlin's father."

"His father?" Uther asked, brow knit in confusion. "I thought the boy was an orphan."

"Merlin never knew his father, sire."

"And this man says he is."

"Yes."

Uther sighed as he sank down at the table, wearily propping his head in his hand. "Arthur should have let the man take his child, then."

"You gave Prince Arthur charge over the boy. He would not let him go without first assuring his safety."

"I sometimes regret that," Uther grumbled. "He credits this boy with too much importance."

Gaius placed a hand on the table near the king's elbow. "And what would you do, sire, if a man had saved your life twice? Merlin is loyal to our prince without fault."

"Such loyalty from a mere boy and servant," Uther mumbled. "When I was young, a servant shielded me from a wild horse. He was crushed and crippled."

Gaius tilted his head, surprised to hear the king speak of his past. "What happened to him, sire?"

"He could no longer work. He was paid for his service and sent away, I suppose." Uther's eyes had taken on a far away look.

"Then perhaps you understand."

Uther looked up at the physician. "I understand, Gaius. It doesn't mean it is seemly. The boy's loyalty may be to Arthur, but Arthur's loyalty is to the kingdom. To run after this child every time he is in need is beyond my son's duties." He drummed his fingers on the table. "When he returns, he must understand his place in Camelot."

Gaius felt sudden trepidation. "The prince or Merlin, my lord?"

"Both. The boy has a guardian in you. He will no longer be Arthur's concern."

* * *

Morgana had finished her mid-day meal, and now lay resting on her bed. She had asked Lancelot to eat with her, but he had begged off, exhausted and not hungry he claimed. She had watched him slouch away in defeat, grieving she could speak no words to diminish the horrors of his past. As she stared at the canopy covering her bed, her mind drifted to her own tender father, his caresses and kindness and faithfulness. She couldn't imagine him raising a hand to her. What it must have been like for Lancelot!

She twisted her bracelet once more and brought her hand near her gaze, contemplating the beautiful silver and gold. She had suffered no nightmares since the sorceress had gifted her this. She had even started to trick herself into believing the dreams had been nothing in the end, simple overactive imaginings. But she _had_ seen Merlin in danger twice, and he was in trouble again, perhaps suffering as Lancelot once had.

Morgana drew in a shaky breath. What if Arthur came too late? What if he didn't find Merlin at all? She stopped turning the bracelet, clutching it between her fingers. Her heart pounded as she stared at it. She had to do this. For Merlin's sake.

Morgana pulled the bracelet from her wrist and lay back against the pillows. She was tired enough to sleep, but fear pushed rest away from her. She breathed rhythmically, telling herself this was the only way. No one else would be able to find Merlin like she could. She wasn't sure how to make it happen, so she just thought of Merlin—the boy greeting her with his slight bow and glowing smile, sitting in deep concentration as he scratched out copy work, laughing as they shared the silliness of some stupid joke.

Her eyelids grew heavy. Her heartbeat slowed. Her mind relaxed. Sweet darkness was hers for a time, then the stirrings began. Her eyes flicked rapidly in dream as the vision came. Arthur appeared first, moving through darkness. Behind him was a figure, lean and almost as tall as he—lanky Merlin. Light flickered on their faces as they reached the end of a tunnel. Arthur stared in utter disbelief; Merlin gaped in awe. The vision changed, the two on the ground, collapsing, pain etched on their faces. The light around them grew brighter and brighter, burning, killing, screaming a name—"Isgaard!"

Morgana shot up from her bed, sweat pouring down her face and neck. She fumbled for a moment, desperate to find the bracelet. She spied it in her lap and thrust it back onto her wrist. Pressing fisted hands into her mattress, she took but a moment to compose herself, then slid off the bed, wrapped herself in a nightgown, and fled her room.

* * *

Balinor had aided Merlin back to the small chamber that served as his room. He settled his son onto his bed, then moved away. Merlin was grateful for the space after their confrontation, but he couldn't close his eyes. Instead he watched Balinor sit before the third chest and pull out the same box of letters he'd perused earlier. The man read over the first and brushed his eyes.

Merlin's heart squeezed, speaking emotions he couldn't voice. He'd been loved by his father. He didn't doubt Balinor's sincerity, but the man had still left. Hunted by Uther his mother had written. He hadn't wanted them hunted, too. It made sense, but it didn't remove the hole in Merlin's past.

Merlin guessed he must have fallen asleep because next he knew his shoulder was being shaken.

"Merlin?" He opened his eyes to see Balinor leaning over him, a gentle smile on his face. "Are you hungry?"

Merlin sat up, rubbing at his eyes. "Wh-what time is it?"

"Mid-day at least," Balinor informed him. He placed a plate in his hands. "I don't have much."

Merlin glanced down at the cooked fish and fresh berries. "It's okay."

Balinor nodded gratefully and sat in the chair by the fire. He looked down as he ate.

Merlin glanced around the chamber. "H-have you always lived here? I mean, since you left Ealdor?"

Balinor looked up, relief on his face, perhaps because his son had decided to speak to him. "For some time I traveled in Essetir. It was a bit safer, but I couldn't stay away long, not after..." His voice broke.

"After what?"

Balinor's eyes grew sad and angry at the same time. "After I heard about the deaths of my brethren."

"You had brothers?"

"Of a kind."

Merlin chewed for a moment, then spoke softly. "I met my uncle. He tried to take my magic."

"Aredian." Balinor's voice was taut with emotion. "Kilgharrah told me. I feel that's partly my fault. I didn't kill him when I had the chance."

"He and you, Kilgharrah, how do you know each other?"

"Aredian and I had the same father. His mother died and my father fell in love with my mother. We never did get along. Between the two of us, I had the stronger bond with our father. I took to his special talent easily."

"Magic?"

Balinor smiled. "A unique magic. Passed down through blood from father to son."

Merlin stared. From father to son.

Balinor abruptly stood. "I'd like to show you something."

Merlin set his empty plate on the bed. He trailed Balinor out into the larger cavern, but instead of heading to the ledge, Balinor hiked across it to a jut of rock. He ducked behind, and Merlin found himself in another tunnel. Balinor's hand began to glow with light, and something within Merlin warmed to see his father echo one of his own talents. Balinor led him down a path, then unexpectedly stopped and turned.

"Kilgharrah tells me you are honorable and trustworthy."

A healthy pride blossomed in Merlin at how the dragon had described him.

"You've kept your own nature secret while in Camelot. You must promise me now on your mother's life that you will not tell anyone what I am about to show you."

Merlin locked his eyes on his father's glimmering with the light in his hand. "I promise."

Balinor pressed a hand to the tunnel wall and part of it swung back revealing a hidden staircase. Balinor descended steps hewed in the rock and Merlin followed. At the bottom, another doorway presented itself. Balinor passed through and lay his glowing hand on a strange looking pillar, setting off a chain reaction as the room reacted to Balinor's touch, walls glittering with light. Merlin gaped.

The cavern they stood in was vast, but even more impressive was its exquisite decoration. The walls had been smoothed and covered in carved murals accented with delicate, flowing script. Stone benches and pedestals adorned the space, also carved in intricate patterns.

"What do you think?" Balinor asked, a hint of humor in his tone.

Merlin shook his head. "I've never seen anything like this, even at the castle."

"Come on."

Merlin ran his eyes over the murals as they crossed the space. Almost all of them contained people interacting with a dragon. The dragons varied in size and shape and habitat. They reached the end of the room and a couple pedestals. "How are you today?" Balinor whispered softly.

Merlin beheld two oblong shapes secured to the pedestals by clasps at their base. One was a dull pink, the other a golden yellow. He could hear a faint heartbeat in each.

"These," Balinor said, "are the last of the dragon eggs." Merlin drew close, reaching out to touch them, but Balinor gripped his wrist. "It's not time." He pulled Merlin away from the eggs and sat him on a bench, sinking down next to him. "Once the dragonlords were killed, and I was the only one left, I had to come here and guard the eggs. They are the only hope of one day restoring the dragons."

"Dragonlords?" Merlin stammered.

"From times ancient there were those who could speak to dragons as masters. Our numbers dwindled over time, especially as dragons were hunted in various lands and those with connection to them suspect. But for a time in Camelot, dragons were left alone and dragonlords trusted to keep them from causing any harm. Until Uther."

"He killed the dragons," Merlin breathed out, recalling Kilgharrah saying he was the last of his kin.

"Uther feared them. When he began to assault all magic, the dragons fought back. They were hunted by Uther's knights, great rewards given for their deaths. It was for you, and also for them, that I tried to make peace in Camelot."

A lump formed in Merlin's throat. "What happened when Kilgharrah was captured?"

Balinor looked down at his lap. "Uther sent a message saying he sought peace with the last dragon. He wanted to make certain promises and conditions between himself and Kilgharrah." Balinor raised his head, staring in the distance. "I came as intermediary and with the hope of more peace than just that between Camelot and dragons. We met Aredian along the way who mocked our attempts at peace. Kilgharrah meant to kill him, but I prevented that. I saw Uther throwing Aredian out of the capital as good news for our mission, and I couldn't kill a man my father loved so dearly, even if he had done so many awful things."

Balinor paused. "I was quite foolish." He looked back at Merlin. "Uther pretended to be welcoming, providing a cavern for Kilgharrah to meet in during negotiations."

"The one beneath the castle," Merlin realized.

Balinor nodded. "Once there, he brought in several of his knights with a family of magic wielders. He threatened to kill them if I didn't bind Kilgharrah with a command to never leave the cavern."

"Bind?"

"As a dragonlord, I can speak the language of dragons and whatever I say a dragon must obey. Kilgharrah had no choice after I ordered him to stay."

"But why would Uther want him to stay instead of killing him?"

Balinor spoke bitterly. "Uther claims to hate magic, yet its superstition torments him. During the Purge, a Druid seer foretold that the moment the king killed the last of the dragons, his kingdom would fall. This warning settled deep in his heart, and he was determined to have the last dragon confined. He claimed he killed it, but he hid Kilgharrah away for Camelot's safety or so he thought."

"Kilgharrah left," Merlin noted. "He disobeyed you."

Balinor nodded again. "The hold of a dragonlord's command can fade over time, but also, a command can be overridden if a dragonlord is in mortal peril. It helped that you were under threat from Aredian."

Merlin's eyes widened.

"Yes, Merlin. You possess the blood of the dragonlord. The potential to command dragons flows in your veins."

* * *

Arthur had called a halt, his knights clearly bone weary after so much fruitless searching. He ate his meal apart from them but caught the looks they sent his way. Almost a whole day of searching and they had found no sign of Merlin. Arthur didn't understand how a merchant could be such a skilled forester, but then, he knew nothing of the man's background.

Arthur's teeth began to ache. He slackened his jaw to stop chewing so hard. He wasn't really hungry, but the action kept him from thinking about what might be happening to Merlin. He had failed Merlin once when the boy was captured by the witchfinder and failed him again by letting this man run off with him. Arthur ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

He startled when a flapping sounded, and Merlin's kestrel appeared, landing in front of him. Leon must have lost hold of it. He was a bit annoyed at the knight for losing it, but also grateful to see it had recovered. Merlin cared so much for the bird.

"Come, Nero," Arthur commanded as he reached for it. The bird hopped away, jerking its head back and forth blindly. "Come." The bird moved away again, screeching. Arthur leaned back, watching it pace back and forth, hopping and making short screeching sounds, almost like it was trying to tell him something.

Arthur suddenly thought of how the kestrel always came back to Merlin, just as the castle falconer's charges did. He stood. The kestrel flew screeching to a tree not far away. Could the bird possibly lead him to Merlin? _Want_ him to find Merlin? It was a silly thought, really, but then again he'd known dogs and horses that were so attached to their masters they had rescued them.

Arthur stepped towards the kestrel and when he reached him, it flew ahead to another tree. Arthur ran to catch up, and the kestrel took off again.

"Sire?"

Arthur heard the knights hurriedly packing up behind him, but he didn't stop as they shouted after him.

* * *

Lancelot jumped as the door to his room slammed open and Morgana appeared dressed only in a night gown and robe. "We need to go to Isgaard."

Lancelot slowly stood. "You want to go to Isgaard?"

"Yes. Now. Come with me."

"Morgana..."

She rushed up to him and clasped his hands. "Merlin and Arthur are in Isgaard."

"How do you know that?"

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. "Do you love me?"

Lancelot stared into her intense gaze, trying to make some sense of what she was saying. "Morgana..."

She shook his hands in her grip. "Do you?"

"Of course," Lancelot affirmed. "My heart is yours alone."

"Then you would never kill me, no matter what I had done?"

Lancelot's brow creased in confusion. "Have you done something?"

"Answer me."

Lancelot squeezed her hands. "Never would I harm you."

"I have magic. I don't know how, but I have it."

Lancelot swallowed hard. He had kept the truth from her as Merlin had told him to. "If this is about your dreams..."

"They're real. They always have been. I see things and they come true. And the sorceress that saved Merlin gave me a way to control them, at least, to silence them until I need them."

"What?" Lancelot asked in shock. "You've seen Nimueh?"

"Not since Merlin was rescued. But she sent me a gift, told me how to control them."

"You can't trust her."

"And why not?" Morgana demanded, dropping his hands. "Because she's a sorceress? I have magic, too. You can trust me. Please. I need you to trust me."

Lancelot's eyes flicked back and forth, unsure if he should affirm the truth or not.

Tears formed in Morgana's eyes. "Please believe me. I need you to believe me. I can't hide it anymore. I can't...I can't..." She covered her face with her hands.

Lancelot firmed his jaw. She'd suffered too long. He pulled her into an embrace and she wept against his chest. He kissed the top of her head. "I believe you." He moved his hands to her shoulders when her crying calmed and looked into her eyes. "Let's go to Isgaard."

* * *

Merlin sat cross-legged on the floor of Balinor's bedchamber, surrounded by open scrolls. "And I just learn to read these and dragons obey me?"

Balinor grinned at his son's enthusiasm. "Dragon language is ancient, but powerful. I can teach you."

Merlin ran his eyes back over the scrolls, his heart stirred.

"If you learn, you will be able to speak in the deep language of dragons. Kilgharrah will understand you, but he will not yet bend to you. There is more that must happen before you rule him."

Merlin's eyes grew troubled.

"What is it?"

Merlin bit his lip. "It just seems...well...wrong to _make_ Kilgharrah do what I want."

"You do not always _have_ to make dragons obey. Dragonlords and dragons have such close bonds, often no command is needed at all."

Merlin looked away, contemplating this.

"Kilgharrah is already devoted to you," Balinor spoke quietly. "A bit _too_ much. I am afraid he has misled you."

Merlin looked back. "How?"

"Emrys."

"The prophecy," Merlin breathed out.

"The Druids were mistaken once and they can be again. Some of their elders once claimed I was Emrys and held the peace of Camelot in my hands. You see where that brought me." Balinor gestured around him.

"What exactly is the prophecy?"

Balinor sighed. "Vague. Camelot will rise in harmony when the golden prince grows into his reign. The warlock Emrys at his side paves the way for a kingdom reborn, Albion united for all."

"Arthur is the golden prince."

"So say some," Balinor admitted. "But they only guess. As does Kilgharrah."

"The Druids knew me," Merlin whispered.

Balinor's eyes darkened. "Knew you?"

"I sensed it when they found me in the woods. And Nimueh knows I'm Emrys. And Gaius and...my mother."

"Your mother?"

Merlin nodded. "She tried to take me away from Camelot, but it didn't work. Arthur came to Ealdor. He saved us from raiders, and she told me I had to go back."

Balinor ground his jaw. "None of these people can determine who Emrys is for certain."

"But I _can_ ," Merlin insisted. "I dreamed about Arthur almost all my life, and then I found him, and he's...my friend."

"Merlin..."

"Why would I dream it if it wasn't true?"

"Merlin..."

"I was _born_ with magic. I have to be Emrys. And I have to help Arthur."

Balinor placed a hand on his shoulder. "Your place is here with me. You are the last dragonlord. I must train you in the ways of dragons until you take my place, protecting the last two eggs as I have until it's time."

Merlin frowned. "Time for what?"

"Dragons can only come forth when a dragonlord who has never broken the will of a dragon calls them. It will be your word that calls them forth, but it is not time yet. They would be in danger now, but the time will come." Balinor's hand tightened on his shoulder. "This is why you are needed, Merlin. You do have a great destiny—to bring the dragons back to Camelot."

* * *

Arthur followed after the kestrel. When he tired and had to stop, it waited, perched on a nearby branch. His knights had caught up to him, muttering in confusion, but he gave them no explanation. How ridiculous would it sound that he was following a bird he hoped would lead him to his servant boy.

He stumbled through thick underbrush towards Nero once again. Voices sounded ahead. He gestured with his hand, warning the knights to crouch low and maintain silence. They obeyed. He sneaked along until he reached an overhang and could look below at a camp. Three men gathered around a fire, one of them shaking coin out a chest. The bandits! He'd found them at last, but before he could look back and inform his men, he felt the cold, sharp sting of a blade at the back of his neck.

"Well, well, well, our dear prince. This won't do at all."

Hands roughly grabbed him, wrenching his own behind his back. He was bound then turned around to face a man with dark eyes and wrinkles hardened by time and sun. Other men had trussed up his knights as he. They were pulled down an embankment to the camp, then thrown to their knees before a fire.

"It can't be Uther's son?" another of the bandits said with a smirk.

"It's the prince all right," the one who had caught him confirmed.

The bandit who had inquired stepped up to him. Arthur ran his eye over the man, dressed well because of his ill gotten gain, but his face grotesquely scarred. "Your father tried to kill me once."

"He must have had good reason," Arthur returned. He earned a hard slap for his words and shook his head, but looked defiantly back up at the bandit.

"I wonder what the death of his son will do to him."

Arthur was shoved to the ground and set upon by multiple bandits. His knights screamed out, and he kicked and struggled. Weight left him as his armor was cut from his shoulders. His hands were untied and his chain mail dragged over his head. Several pairs of hands threw him onto his back, pinning him to the ground. The leader appeared with a dagger.

"My father would pay you any ransom," Arthur said, trying to sound factual rather than desperate. He berated himself inside for being unable to effectively fight back.

The leader cackled. "It's too late for that." He raised the dagger with both hands and sent it plunging downwards.


	39. A Clear Choice

"My lord?" Gwen inquired, her voice soft and hesitant.

Uther looked up from his table where he ate. "Yes?"

"Morgana left this note for you. I found it just now." She held out her hand, eyes lowered in deference.

Uther took the note. Gwen curtsied and moved towards the door. "You will remain. I may wish to reply."

Gwen turned around, but lingered near the door. "Yes, my lord."

Uther ran his eye over the parchment, his face growing redder by the second. He flung the note across the table. Did he not have any control over his own household? He left for a few days and everything was a shambles by the time he returned! He scowled at the maidservant. "You will inform me the moment the Lady Morgana returns."

"Yes, sire."

He waved his hand to the door and Gwen gratefully left. Uther slammed his palm against the table. First Arthur, now Morgana. And that knight Lancelot. _His_ knight, who should never have agreed to run off with her after the boy Merlin.

A nerve flexed in Uther's jaw. When Arthur and Morgana showed back up, they were going to have a family chat the two would never forget, and his knight would learn never to take the side of a ward over his king.

* * *

A squawk sounded as the dagger plunged towards Arthur. The prince watched in shock as Merlin's kestrel dived towards the bandit, alighting on his head and causing him to redirect his aim. Arthur gasped when the dagger sliced down his left side and lodged in his waist. Nero hung onto the bandit who swung around and batted at the kestrel. Nero released his grip and flew off. The bandit sent a blast of fire towards the bird.

"Sorcerer," Arthur whispered through clenched teeth. He didn't have a moment to say anything else. During the commotion one of his knights had managed to loosen his bonds and cut the bindings of the others. A full out fight had begun.

Arthur stumbled to his feet now that the bandits who'd been holding him were otherwise engaged. He drew his sword and lifted it, but gasped again and doubled over. He knew better than to remove the dagger without some assessment of the injury, but it bloody _hurt_. Before he could force himself to straighten and attempt to join the fight, his arm was grabbed and he was dragged back into the woods.

"Sire, we must get you out of here!"

"No," Arthur muttered, shoving at the strong grip to move back to the battle.

"We cannot win against a sorcerer and you must be protected!" Sir Baudwin argued as he pulled Arthur even farther away.

"My men!" Arthur shouted.

"They are doing their duty—to protect you at all costs."

In spite of the pain, Arthur couldn't agree. Their duty wasn't to protect him, but to fight at his side, though he supposed his father had instructed them to guard him with their lives. "I can fight," Arthur insisted, but as he pushed Baudwin away from him, he collapsed to his knees.

"Here, sire," Baudwin said. "Stay here." He pulled Arthur to a copse of bushes and thrust him under so he was concealed. "I will return."

The knight left, and Arthur made to wiggle out from the hideaway, but failed. He'd begun to lose feeling in his left leg; whether from blood loss or some other cause, he didn't know. Still, he fought against his body until it gave out and he lay still. The sounds of fighting died down. Footsteps pounded past his hiding place, then all was quiet.

Arthur reached down to the dagger embedded in his side. He has hand grew wet with blood as he felt around the wound. The forest had become blurry, and he could hardly breathe.

"M-merlin."

He didn't know why he called out then. It wasn't like the boy could help him, but his was the only name he could think of before everything went dark.

* * *

"Then what do you think this word means?"

Merlin narrowed his eyes as he thought. "World?"

"Close," Balinor said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "It's more comprehensive than that. Totality of creation would be a better way to say it."

Merlin recognized the nuance in the term now, but he was distracted. He had sat quietly as his father explained the language of the scrolls for the last two hours. He'd discovered he had a talent for languages once Morgana and Arthur had begun teaching him to read and write. This new language wasn't that hard to pick it up, and although he found the study compelling, he kept thinking about what his father had told him, that the future of the dragons was dependent on him.

"What if I do both?" he suddenly blurted out.

Balinor lowered the scroll he was holding. "What do you mean?"

"What if I guard the dragons _and_ help Arthur?"

Balinor sighed loudly. "You can't do both."

"I mean, I could because you're here, right? I don't need to guard the eggs _right now._ "

Balinor dropped the scroll and stared sternly at him. "You cannot ever go back."

"But you said if I decided to go back, I could."

Balinor waved a hand at him. "Have you not understood what I have told you? Uther kills sorcerers. He despises dragonlords. You cannot put yourself near him or his son."

"I'm okay there. They don't know what I am."

"You _will not_ go back. I won't allow it."

Merlin scowled. "You can't keep me here."

"Kilgharrah obeys me and he will not aid you."

Realization dawned and Merlin stood. "You told him not to help me?"

"It was the only way to make sure you stayed here," Balinor said, standing as well.

"That's my choice. Not yours!"

"I'm your father."

"I don't care! I know I have to be with Arthur. He'll change and we'll fulfill the prophecy."

Balinor stepped to him and gripped his arm tightly. "Stop this, Merlin! You haven't been listening to me. The prophecy is not certain. We cannot know it is you no matter what you have dreamed. If you go to Camelot, you risk your safety and the lives of the dragons. I cannot hatch the eggs without you!"

"Let go of me." Merlin pushed against his father.

"Not until you hear me. The dragonlords were captured by Uther, tortured. He wanted to know where the dragon eggs were. We tried to smuggle them out of the kingdom, but those who carried them were found and the eggs destroyed. I feared when I came back here there would be no more eggs and the dragons lost forever, but two remained. I have not done all this to betray the dragons. You must stay here with me and learn what it means be a dragonlord."

Merlin still struggled.

"If Uther ever finds out about you, he will kill you."

"I'm not afraid of him."

Balinor squeezed his arm tighter. "You should be." He fumbled with the ties on his shirt until he could pull it down his right shoulder. Merlin stopped struggling and stared. "Uther did this after I bound Kilgharrah, a sign of his power over me." He released Merlin's arm.

Merlin rubbed at his upper arm, but continued to stare at the right side of his father's chest, branded with the Pendragon crest.

Balinor stepped back toward the scrolls. "He did this as I sat chained to a chair in his dungeon, the family he threatened to kill in the cell next to mine, soldiers at the ready to run them through if I resisted. I only survived because of Gaius."

Merlin spoke softly. "Gaius rescued you?"

Balinor nodded and pointed at the brand. "This cannot happen to you, Merlin. You must stay away from Uther and his son. Prince Arthur has killed to stop magic and will again. He is not a man worthy of your loyalty."

Merlin's chin quivered at dark thoughts of what Arthur would do if he ever knew the truth. Would he let him be branded like his father? Watch as his head was laid on a block? Or would he help Merlin escape like Gaius did his father? And even more troubling, what would he say? Would he call him betrayer and traitor and wicked magician?

Merlin didn't move, eyes locked with his father as these questions tumbled through his mind. Could he leave Arthur? _Should_ he leave Arthur? His indecision was interrupted by flapping. He blinked as he beheld a bird he loved flying into the chamber.

"Nero!" The kestrel landed on his arm.

Balinor growled lowly. "Kill it now."

Merlin looked up, aghast. "What?"

"It is a tool meant to destroy sorcerers."

"Not anymore," Merlin spoke defensively, shifting Nero so he faced away from his father. "He was Aredian's. He's mine now."

"This bird was my brother's?"

Merlin nodded as he stroked Nero's back. "He listens to me." Balinor didn't move, still looking wary. Nero nestled his head into Merlin's hand and the room disappeared as he informed Merlin of his doings. Nero alighted on the head of a man, but what was below him caused Merlin to gasp—Arthur bleeding along his left side, pain etched on his face, a dagger protruding from his waist, buried to the hilt. Nero flapped away and the man threw fire towards him. A sorcerer attacking Arthur. The vision faded.

Merlin could hardly breathe. Arthur had been hurt and could be dying. He grit his teeth. His father was wrong. Arthur was The Dragon Man and had already changed so much. He wasn't his father, and Merlin would _never_ let him become his father. He stalked towards the tunnel.

"Where are you going?"

"To help Arthur."

"You will not go!" Balinor shouted.

"You can't stop me."

"There is no way off this mountain without Kilgharrah, and he will obey me, not you."

Merlin kept stomping away. He'd already thought of that _and_ a way around it. It was desperate, and he hoped he wouldn't have to do it, but he wouldn't let Arthur die. He reached the ledge. "Kilgharrah."

The dragon turned to look at him.

"I know my father told you not to help me, but Arthur is in danger. He might die. I have to get to him before it's too late."

Kilgharrah's eyes burned angrily.

"He won't let you talk to me either?"

Kilgharrah didn't say anything, just continued to stare.

Merlin swallowed hard. He stepped closer to the edge of the ledge to peer at the sheer drop off. His heartbeat quickened. As much as Balinor accused him of not listening, he had digested every word, and recalled something his father had said: _The hold of a dragonlord's command can fade over time, but also, a command can be overridden if a dragonlord is in mortal peril. It helped that you were under threat from Aredian._

"I am a dragonlord," Merlin said, looking to Kilgharrah. "And if I am in mortal peril, you can rescue me."

Kilgharrah tilted his head.

"Can you at least let me know if this is true?"

Kilgharrah didn't nod, but his eyes grew intensely yellow.

"Then I will not die and you will be free." Merlin jumped off the ledge before he had any more time to consider what a stupid thing he was doing.

* * *

Morgana crouched next to a stream, refilling her water skin.

"It will be dark soon," Lancelot spoke behind her. "We should camp for the night."

She stood. "Can't we keep traveling?"

"It would be too difficult."

"Alright, then, tell me what you want me to do."

"Firewood. I'll set up for the night."

"Fine." She moved off, picking up the needed wood.

Lancelot started with the horses, taking stock of the food supplies in their saddlebags, then set up a place for the fire and retrieved their bedrolls and blankets. Everything was prepared by the time Morgana returned. Lancelot managed a roaring fire and cooked some meat he had thought to bring along. They spoke little as they ate and soon had nothing to do but stare into the fire.

Lancelot noted Morgana shivering in her cape and shifted to sit shoulder to shoulder with her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and she leaned into his shoulder. "The winter chill isn't good for you."

Morgana laughed shortly. "The knights endure it all the time."

"You're not a knight."

"I'm not a delicate spring flower, either."

Lancelot smiled and held her tighter. "No, you're not that."

There was a short pause, then Morgana spoke again. "I was afraid you wouldn't accept me."

Lancelot knew she meant her magic. "Why?"

"You're the king's knight."

"But I don't love the king. I love you."

"Uther cannot know."

"I won't tell anyone."

"Lancelot?"

"Um."

"I love you."

Lancelot turned his head to kiss her hair, his mind in turmoil. He had told Merlin he would keep the truth from her, but he hadn't been able to. He didn't want her to go through any of this alone anymore. Part of him wanted to confess further, reveal that Merlin had magic, too, and that Gaius had used his magic for good, but he didn't say anything. He wouldn't. He couldn't put Merlin in any more danger than he already was. Morgana would never turn Merlin in, but the fewer who knew about either of them the less chance there was of Uther figuring something out.

Lancelot sighed as he heard Morgana's breathing change to that of sleep. He lay her back onto her bedroll, then snuggled down next to her, running his eyes over her soft cheeks and long eyelashes. "I'm sorry, my love," he whispered, "that you suffer so, and I cannot alleviate your fears."

* * *

Merlin hadn't meant to scream, but when the ground appeared through the mountainous fog, it wrenched a cry from the boy's throat. Fortunately, he didn't have time to think through any regrets before large claws snatch him out of the air.

"Young warlock! That was foolish and insensible!" Kilgharrah chastised.

Merlin caught his breath. "But...it...worked." A deep rumble sounded in Kilgharrah's chest. Merlin didn't know if it was laughter or anger. "You need to...follow Nero."

"I am aware. He is already leading me. I am the one who sent him, after all."

"You sent Nero?"

"I communicated with him to find your prince. Not that this is an easy task to require of a blind one, but I may have lent him a bit of my magic."

Merlin smiled. "You disobeyed my father."

"I did not. I communicated with the kestrel. Nothing more."

"What happens if a dragon disobeys?"

"A dragon is unable to disobey a dragonlord unless another half-witted dragonlord throws himself off a mountain."

Merlin chuckled, then quickly sobered. "Arthur's been hurt."

"Yes. Nero showed me."

"Will he die?"

"I cannot say for certain."

"But if I'm Emrys and Arthur is the golden prince, he can't die."

"I keep telling you, young warlock, that the future is fluid."

"But if he did die..."

"It's better not to speculate. Remember the last time it almost drove you mad."

Merlin nodded to himself, recalling the whole incident with Myrine's token. His mind shifted directions. "Kilgharrah, why did you let yourself be captured?"

"To wait for you, as I have said."

"But you let my father come, and you said you knew what Uther would do."

The rumble stirred throughout Kilgharrah's body again. His voice was quieter. "I knew your father was not Emrys, even though many of the Druids claimed it. Your mother already carried Emrys in her womb."

"You knew about me even then?"

"All the world knew, despite the ignorance of its people."

"Why didn't you tell them?"

"And put you in more danger? Risk Uther discovering your mother and confining her or worse, killing her?"

"They could have fled."

"Balinor wouldn't flee. He was too determined to make peace. And your mother would not leave him. I argued with your father, told him not to come with me to Uther, but he refused, and if I had insisted, he would have simply commanded me to let him come. I was powerless to stop him."

"But still, why let Uther chain you?"

Kilgharrah chortled. "The chain was useless, but I endured it as a pretense. I never trusted Uther. I knew he lied, but I also knew he would not kill me. He was too frightened of the prophecy that his kingdom would end with the death of the last dragon. He would never have stopped hunting me. So I gave myself to him, ending his search. I would be safe and I could wait for Emrys."

"Thank you for waiting for me."

"You are welcome, Merlin. I knew you were a dragonlord as well as a great warlock. You would need my knowledge and guidance. And when I called you to Camelot, I did so because I could not let the prince grow any farther into his father's ways. Despite anything Balinor has told you, you are Emrys, it cannot be denied, and Arthur will rise a great man only with you at his side."

Merlin had shifted in Kilgharrah's grip, facing upwards to avoid looking at the ground. It was so cold up here. He shivered. Kilgharrah drew his paw closer to his breast and Merlin pushed into his warmth.

"What about the eggs?" Merlin asked.

"They will need you someday, but since this is not the right time for their awaking, you do not need to concern yourself with them. Your father will protect them with his life."

"You didn't tell me about my father."

"No. For the same reason as your mother. We have meant to protect you."

"I wish someone had told me."

"Perhaps I should have. Forgive me. Dragons who live for millennia tend to think their ways the best ways."

"It's okay."

"What a nature you have!"

"What?"

"Compassion, Merlin. I did not expect Emrys to be so compassionate. Those of us who clung to the prophecy assumed much about Emrys, but you have defied us all."

"I hope that's a good thing."

"It is, young warlock, it is."

* * *

Arthur stiffened. He had roused, but only just. He hadn't managed to open his eyes. His left side was numb except for his wound that throbbed with stinging agony. He attempted to crawl from his hiding place, but a tremendous rustling in the trees stalled him. They were back to kill him. He had to get up and fight. He had to. But he couldn't.

A hand laid on his arm and he tried to pull away, but he was as weak as a newborn babe. He heard a sniffle as if someone were crying, and then a voice.

"We're too late?"

"He yet lives. Your father can aid him."

"He can heal?"

"Yes."

Arthur wrestled with the muscles of his mouth, meaning to say something, but not a word came forth. He felt himself slid out from underneath the bushes, low lying twigs scratching at his body.

"Climb on my neck and hold to my horns. I will carry him in my paw."

A hand rested gently on his shoulder. "You'll be fine. You have to."

Arthur stopped trying to wake up. Instead, he hung onto the strangely comforting voice, its words feeling safe and secure. He drifted away again, content in the knowledge that his life rested in the control of the voice.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** A shout out to IDontReviewForSherlockHolmes for the idea of Nero stopping the bandit from killing Arthur!


	40. Chained and Changed

Merlin held tightly to Kilgharrah's horns. He was glad of the gathering dark that obscured the land below. He wasn't sure he'd have been as courageous otherwise. Nero had hitched a ride, snuggled inside Merlin's shirt.

"Will my father heal Arthur?" Merlin's inquiry came out small and fearful, but Kilgharrah heard it nonetheless.

"I will talk to him."

"You think he won't."

"I cannot say what he will do."

"How could my mother have loved him?" Merlin asked angrily.

"You have not suffered as Balinor. Be careful when judging experiences you have never known."

Merlin fell silent, contemplating, remembering the branded scar his father had revealed. What else had Uther done to him? Merlin had heard stories of torture, of course, though no one had been so treated as long as he'd lived in the castle. Kilgharrah began a rapid descent, interrupting Merlin's pondering.

"What are you doing?" Merlin asked, panicking.

"I must land," Kilgharrah explained.

"But we need to get to my father." Merlin clutched Kilgharrah's horn as he bounced on the landing.

Kilgharrah gently let go of Arthur. "See to your prince."

Merlin climbed down, but kept protesting. "I can't help him!"

"I will return with Balinor." Kilgharrah lifted back into the air.

"But, Kilgharrah!" Merlin cried out, staring after him.

"Warm him! I will return!" The dragon disappeared into the night.

Merlin pulled Nero out of his shirt. The kestrel hopped from his hands to the ground. Merlin left him to his own devices as he crouched down next to Arthur, a ball of light appearing in his hand. "Arthur?" He pressed his other hand to the prince's icy cheek. Merlin's eyes flashed gold. Brittle sticks and dead leaves rose from the ground and twirled in the air before settling into an ordered pile. One more gleam of Merlin's eyes and they flamed into fire.

Arthur hadn't stirred. Merlin tugged at the torn left side of the prince's shirt, peeling back the fabric to view the wound. A nasty gash ran down the length of his side to the dagger. Smeared and dried blood crusted around the hilt. Merlin's face grew hot and a rush of bile rose in his throat. He let go the shirt, swallowing to regain his composure. He laid a hand to Arthur's neck, sensing a sluggish pulse.

"Arthur, please," he begged. "Wake up. Just a little."

Merlin dug his fists into the earth when Arthur didn't respond. He closed his eyes, silently recalling spells from the grimoire, then lay his hands on Arthur's chest, reciting one. " _Þurhhæle dolgbenn_." There was no change. He tried another. " _Licsar ge staðol nu_." Still nothing. Merlin gulped down a lump rising in his throat. He focused all his attention on Arthur's wound. " _Wel cene hole_." The gash remained.

Merlin rocked back on his heels and brought his hands to his mouth as tears welled up. "I'm sorry," he gasped. A powerful sorcerer he might be, but not for healing. Never for healing. Why? Why make Emrys so helpless when it came to the art of healing?

Merlin thought of Kilgharrah's warning, that the future was fluid. If he was Emrys, and Arthur died, did that mean another would become the golden prince of prophecy? Images passed through his mind—he and Arthur riding, practicing with weaponry, answering correspondence, laughing, chatting, joking, teasing. A sob escaped his lips. He grasped Arthur's shoulders, leaning over him. "There won't ever be another like you, Arthur. You must live. Please. Fight!"

* * *

Kilgharrah landed on the ledge and called out. "Balinor!"

"Kilgharrah!" a strained voice answered.

Kilgharrah waddled over to the edge, looked down, then abruptly dived. He leveled and hovered, staring at Balinor clinging to the rocky mountain side. "What a foolish thing."

Balinor glared at the dragon. "You know full well without you it's my only choice. Help me."

Kilgharrah lowered himself a bit. Balinor jumped, grasping a hold of the dragon's horns. Kilgharrah lifted upwards.

"No! Take me to Merlin!"

"I cannot yet. We must talk."

" _Beflíeg_..."

"Do not command me!" Kilgharrah shouted. "There are words you must hear unless you are a coward."

Balinor growled, but stayed quiet until Kilgharrah reached the ledge. He didn't dismount. "Say whatever you want quickly."

"Your son did a desperate thing. He leaped from the ledge to release your commands on me."

"So I guessed."

"The prophecy ties him to Arthur Pendragon."

"The prophecy," Balinor muttered. "The one that led to my foolhardy attempt to reconcile with Uther."

"My friend...it was my own actions that led you to Uther."

"Kilgharrah." Balinor's gentle hand rubbed at the soft spot between his horns. "You cannot blame yourself."

"You do not understand. I wanted Uther to capture me."

Balinor's hand stilled. "I suspected such."

"I did not want you at my side."

Balinor's voice became almost inaudible. "Why didn't you tell you meant to be captured?"

Kilgharrah didn't speak for a moment, then said quietly, "To spare you and to protect Merlin."

" _Spare_ me?"

"You believed so strongly you were meant to bring peace. I did not think it possible, but I persuaded myself perhaps there was a chance. I did not wish to hurt you."

"So instead you led me to torture."

"I am sorry. It is why I tried to go alone."

Balinor finally slid from Kilgharrah's neck and walked around to stare him in the eyes. "Did you hear my screams?"

Kilgharrah bowed his head and closed his eyes. "They haunt my dreams. My heart rent at your sufferings."

"You were disloyal."

"No." Kilgharrah's head rose, eyes burning. "Emrys needed me."

"Emrys," Balinor growled.

"Merlin."

"No."

"Yes. I felt it when he was yet in the womb." Kilgharrah's eyes softened, gazing in the middle distance. "The earth trembled. Nature sang. The world awakened from its long, dark slumber, the sun rising brighter and stronger, piercing the shadow that blanketed Albion. Magic blazed forth from a small home in Ealdor and the uniting of a simple farm woman to the man she loved."

Balinor's eyes moistened. "This cannot be true."

"You know me better, old friend. I do not lie."

Balinor ran a hand over his eyes and turned away.

"I did not tell you because I could not endanger his existence. And I do not think you would have believed me even then. I did what I felt I must. Uther would have hunted me forever. To be imprisoned in Camelot was the logical price to pay for my safety as I waited for the time of Emrys to arise. And now it is here."

Balinor didn't speak for a moment. When he did, his voice cracked. "Where is Merlin?"

"With Arthur Pendragon."

"You took him back to Camelot."

"No. The prince has been wounded and nears death."

"What?" Balinor turned, his features shocked.

"He was attacked. His knights fallen. Emrys is but yet exploring his power, and healing is not his gift. He needs your skill."

Balinor stared incredulously at Kilgharrah, then began to laugh. "You tell me the Pendragon line is to die out and expect me to stop it from happening?"

"He is the key to peace in Albion, what you desired for so long."

"He is the son of a man that meant to kill me!" Balinor snapped.

"His hand did not wield the brand or the cudgel or the whip."

"Arthur Pendragon kills like his father!"

"He did not kill Hunith of Ealdor."

Balinor's brow creased angrily. "Why would he even try?"

"She told him she had magic to shield Merlin's use of it."

Balinor blinked rapidly. "And the prince meant to kill her?"

"He thought her a sorceress, yet lowered his sword. It is Merlin that has changed him. If he dies, a man less malleable may take his place."

Balinor swallowed hard and waved a hand. "I will not heal him, but you _will_ take me to Merlin." Before Balinor could utter a word in dragon tongue, Kilgharrah roared louder than he had in years. Balinor covered his ears and winced.

"Have you forgotten the code of the dragonlords? Has Uther fashioned this man before me? Uther has won! You are as broken as he—spiteful, bitter, angry, limiting those who can bring the kingdom good! You are content to break your son to destroy your enemy! You are not the man I knew."

Balinor lowered his hands. He stared for a moment longer, then commanded. " _Æ_ _sitte_."

Kilgharrah let out a screech. He'd been told to stay. Balinor left him alone on the ledge, stumbling back into the cave.

* * *

Merlin stirred from beside Arthur. A roar had come from far above. Kilgharrah? Nothing else he knew could make such a sound. What did it mean?

Nero had nestled into his lap against the cold. Merlin basked in the fire, though he made sure most of the heat washed over Arthur. He kept glancing upwards. How long would it take the dragon to return?

He moved his eyes back to Arthur's chest. He'd been counting every breath Arthur took, assuring himself his prince still lived. Now there was an extended pause. Merlin stared. _Come on. Breathe._ Several seconds passed. Merlin stopped stroking Nero. "Arthur?" _No. No. No. No!_

Merlin shifted to his knees, setting Nero next to him. He placed his hands on Arthur's chest once more. " _N_ _éade_ _éðian_ _._ "This one wasn't exactly a healing spell. It had to work. Merlin's hands quivered when Arthur didn't respond. " _N_ _éade_ _éðian_ ," he repeated. " _Néade éðian_! _Néade éðian_!" His shout broke and he collapsed onto Arthur, arms folded one top of the other as he cried over his prince and master and friend.

So consuming was Merlin's grief, he did not hear the landing of the dragon nor the shout of the man who called out to him. A hand grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the prince. He could only make out dim shapes through blurred vision. Someone was kneeling next to Arthur. He recognized the voice of his father.

" _Ahlúttre þá séocnes. Þurh-hæle bræd._ "

A rasping breath rattled harshly in Merlin's ears. He wiped at his eyes and his knees buckled. Arthur was breathing again. Balinor's hands roamed up and down the prince's body as he continued to whisper. His shoulders slouched and he turned to Merlin, the dagger in his hands. "Please." He pointed with the knife to his water skin.

Merlin choked back his shocked emotion and retrieved the skin, uncorking it and pouring it over his father's hands, watching Arthur's blood wash away as Balinor scrubbed. He rinsed the dagger as well and slid it into his belt.

"We shouldn't move him." Balinor stood, returning to Kilgharrah and retrieving a stack of blankets. He handed one to Merlin who gratefully took it and wrapped himself inside as his father lay another over Arthur, tucking it in on all sides.

"How is he?" Merlin managed as Nero pecked at his blanket. He raised an edge and the kestrel ducked inside.

"Living." Balinor didn't meet his eyes. "I've done what I can."

Merlin took that to mean Arthur wasn't out of the woods yet.

Balinor reached out and touched Arthur's cheek. "He looks like his mother more than his father. She was a good woman."

"He misses her," Merlin mumbled.

Balinor continued to contemplate Arthur. "He never knew her. Just his father...and his father's ways. He was but eight when I was imprisoned. So very young." He paused. "What do you see in him, Merlin?"

Merlin felt a bit disconcerted at his father's awkward ruminations and unexpected question. "My friend."

Balinor laughed lowly. "Not your destiny?"

Merlin gazed on Arthur's face. It wasn't something he'd thought about. Destiny and Arthur just seemed to go together, but he suddenly realized something. "It doesn't matter."

"What?"

"I don't care if I'm Emrys or not. Arthur is my friend, and I won't leave him."

"He has your loyalty more than me?"

"He's earned it."

Balinor turned to look at him, and Merlin lowered his own gaze, embarrassed. He heard a rustling and a packet was shoved into his hands. "Eat and rest." Merlin glanced up at his father's retreating back as he slumped away into the woods.

* * *

Balinor stopped when he'd gone far enough not to be heard. The frigid night air caught in his throat. He willed back tears.

 _Who am I?_ A dragonlord. A father. A murderer? Balinor leaned against a tree. Had he really come so close to letting a man die even when he could save him?

He pressed a hand to his chest. Over the years he'd rubbed at the scar when idle, tracing the Pendragon symbol, and each time he beheld again the dungeon, the terrified family, and the knight standing over him obeying Uther's orders as the king watched on. He'd been beaten, then flogged. Branded. Beaten again. Flogged again. They didn't ask him many questions. It wasn't an interrogation, but a humiliation and a lesson. They dragged him into the light, parading him through the streets, declaring Camelot's victory over dragonlords. Death was next. A public burning at the stake.

But then Gaius had come, risking death to smuggle him away. The physician had tended his wounds as best he could, then Balinor had fled to Ealdor, to Hunith, who nursed him and loved him. By the time Merlin entered the world, he had recovered in mind as well as body and determined to make farming his trade. Then the soldiers came, seeking him. Who had given him away, he never knew. He made it to the woods, peeking out from his hiding place to watch as they roughly threw villagers out of their homes, including Hunith clutching her newborn to her breast. They ransacked the houses and warned the village of dire consequences should any be found complicit in sheltering the dragonlord again.

Balinor had comforted Hunith after they left. Reassembled their home. Rocked his son as she cooked. Ate her food. Kissed her good-night. Laid his son in his cradle. And vanished.

 _I am changed._ How could he not be after such destruction? His body marred, his wife and child ripped from him. He'd been alone for so long, stoking an angry heart.

Balinor slipped to the forest floor, resting his head in his hands. He'd been spit on and despised as they displayed him before Camelot. When they returned to the courtyard, he'd fallen to his knees, exhausted and spent. Uther towered over him and at his side, the child prince.

"What has he done, father?"

"A dragonlord. Sent to destroy us." The boy looked away, but his father turned his head back. "Look on justice, my son, and remember well."

Balinor had met those blue eyes for a moment, then he was forced up and carried away.

Arthur Pendragon had learned, his father his only guide, shaping his heart to hate and kill.

 _And I intended to do the same._ To let the prince die. He hadn't even been sure he would attempt to help when shame turned him back to Kilgharrah. Not even when they landed in the clearing. Until he saw Merlin weeping over the prince's body. His son reflected the man he'd been before the Purge, the one who had refused to kill Aredian and given Uther a chance. A man who had died long ago, but suddenly rose once more, unable to ignore his son's pain.

Who was Arthur Pendragon? Who was Emrys? And did they deserve a chance to make things right? These questions taunted him as he wept into his hands.

* * *

Merlin curled up next to Arthur during the night. He slept fitfully, jarring awake now and then to check if the prince still breathed. Color had returned to his face and his wound had scarred over, but Balinor had warned of possible internal injuries.

When morning dawned, Merlin was already awake, staring into the sky that seemed perpetually cloudy during the winter months. He sat up and glanced at his father sitting in the same place he'd occupied when he returned from the woods the night before. Balinor reached out a hand, tending the fire with a word. His gaze fell on Merlin.

"Morning," Merlin said quietly.

"Yes," Balinor spoke softly. "I have breakfast." He held out a stick with roasted meat.

Merlin took it and ate eagerly. When he finished, he handed it back and Balinor began to spear more fresh meat onto it. He held it over the fire.

"Thank you," Merlin whispered, "for saving him."

Balinor didn't look up from the stick, speaking haltingly. "I...didn't want to."

Merlin folded his arms around himself. "I was afraid you wouldn't."

A silence descended for a time until Balinor broke it. "Merlin, tell me about Arthur Pendragon. What has he done to earn your loyalty?"

Merlin smiled to himself. Such a question. Arthur had been so much to him, much more than just the man who fulfilled his purpose, though that was probably the most important aspect of him. He began to prattle away, extolling Arthur's care of his education, his weapons training, his gifting him a horse and sword, the daily things that maintained their friendship. But there were big moments, too, times when he grew closer to Arthur instantly, like when Arthur came looking for him in Ealdor and helped fight off the raiders or drank poison to save him from his father's wrath. Balinor raised surprised eyebrows at that one. And, of course, Merlin added at the end, he'd come looking for him when Balinor took him away. He wouldn't have been heading the direction he was otherwise.

When he finished, Balinor glanced across the fire at Arthur's still form. "But he hates magic."

Merlin shifted. "He can't help that."

"Can't he?"

"Well, I mean, Uther is his father. He believes what he's been told all his life."

"Perhaps so," Balinor conceded at his own echoed thoughts from last night. "Yet he still acts on them."

Merlin dragged a finger through the dirt beside him, absently drawing. "He hasn't killed anyone with magic since I've known him."

Balinor snorted disdainfully. "I don't think there are many left to kill."

"And he's been attacked by magic wielders, so that doesn't help."

"They seek justice."

"Against King Uther more than Arthur." Merlin looked up, locking eyes with his father.

Balinor's eyes grew cold. "What of the Druids? He's led raids."

Merlin sighed. "I know."

"And this doesn't trouble you?"

"He hasn't led once since I met him and...he tried to just arrest them, but then a fight broke out between them and the knights."

Balinor looked back to Arthur. "You dreamed of him before you met him?"

"Yes."

Balinor rubbed at his forehead as if trying to think. "Would he kill you for your magic?"

"I don't think so."

"But you don't know."

"I guess I can't know for sure." But he thought so in the depths of his soul. He could tell Arthur today and he would live, but his tongue was still stayed. Arthur might not kill him, but he could not bear the betrayal in his prince's eyes or the words that might be said and the certain exile that would follow.

"I'm sorry," Merlin muttered. "That I can't stay with you. I want to help the dragons, but Arthur needs me."

"Emrys," Balinor grumbled. "Can you possibly be him?"

"I am."

Balinor frowned. "I need more than your word."

"I was born with magic. I dreamed of Arthur. What more do you need?"

"Undeniable proof."

"There is a way." The rumbling voice came from Kilgharrah. Both Merlin and Balinor turned to look at the dragon. How long he had been awake, they didn't know. "There is a nearby place that would speak to Emrys."

Balinor's eyes widened. "No. He's not going there."

"It is the proof you demand."

"That place can drive a man out of his mind."

"Merlin is Emrys. He will not be harmed."

"You don't know that!"

Merlin suddenly stood. "I'll go."

Balinor turned back to him. "You don't even know what we're talking about."

"Will you believe I'm Emrys if I go?"

"That's beside the point."

"Then I'm going."

Balinor opened his mouth to continue arguing but a weak voice spoke from across the fire.

"Going where?"


	41. Adversaries

As Merlin called out "Arthur," the flapping of wings behind him indicated Kilgharrah had immediately fled, but he heard the dragon's voice in his mind: _Go east to the mountain and follow its base north. You will find a cave. I will wait if I can._ He ingested the words, though for the moment ignored them, kneeling next to Arthur. The prince's eyes were closed.

"Arthur," he repeated.

Arthur's eyelids fluttered open. "M-erlin," he stammered. "Thought I lost you."

Merlin smiled with relief. "You can't get rid of me."

"Don't want to." Arthur tried to roll to a sitting position, but gasped. Merlin grasped his arm.

"You can't move yet. You were badly wounded."

"Sorcerer," Arthur muttered.

"Yeah."

Arthur blinked a couple times. "Heard you say...going somewhere."

"Not right now," Merlin assured the prince. He glanced back at his father staring warily at him and the prince. "There's someone here that can heal you."

"Gaius?"

Merlin shook his head and felt a presence at his side. Balinor placed his hand on Arthur's forehead. "You're not hot. No infection then. Your wound has been dealt with, but a poultice would help. Now that you're awake I can apply it."

Arthur's eyes burned when he comprehended who leaned over him. He cried out, scrambling to his elbows and pushing himself up to his knees, fumbling for a sword that was no longer available. "Get back!" He scrabbled forwards, grabbing Merlin towards him.

Merlin resisted. "Arthur, it's okay."

"Get away from him!"

Merlin grabbed the prince's shoulders. "He's not done anything to hurt me. I'm okay. Really."

Arthur suddenly weakened, slumping downwards. Merlin directed him back to the ground. "Don't trust him," the prince mumbled.

"It's fine. _I'm_ fine. Just rest, alright?"

Merlin looked up at Balinor with an expression that boasted "See!" Balinor lifted a skeptical eyebrow. Merlin turned back to Arthur, laying a hand on the prince's shoulder and blinking back tears. He was Emrys and meant to be at Arthur's side. And he was going to prove it.

* * *

Lancelot stayed his steed, pointing ahead. "Mountains of Isgaard."

Morgana reined in her horse next to his. "How far away now?"

"Maybe an hour or two if we ride hard." He paused. "You're sure they're there?"

"Somewhere." Her lips trembled.

Lancelot brushed a hand over her cheek. "We'll find them."

Morgana grasped his wrist. She leaned closer and he kissed her. Then she pulled away and galloped towards the mountain range.

* * *

Another hour had passed. Arthur had slipped back into slumber. Balinor went to work creating a poultice from supplies he'd brought in a bag. It wasn't really needed, but he couldn't explain he'd healed the prince with magic. The poultice wouldn't hurt anyway, might even hasten the healing scar.

Merlin knelt next to his father, focused on his preparations. "How can you heal?"

"I was taught some spells and took to them easily. Still, I'm nowhere near as skilled as Gaius."

Merlin sighed. "I can hardly heal."

"Healing is a rare magic. Not many have it."

"But if I'm Emrys, shouldn't I be able to do _all_ magic?"

"We still don't know that you _are_ Emrys."

"I know."

Balinor paused and gripped his arm. "You think because I've helped him, I'll let you persist in this delusion?"

"You're just scared," Merlin suddenly accused. "You don't want me to be Emrys."

"I don't," Balinor stated flatly.

"Why? Don't you want the prophecy to come true?"

"Not if it takes destroying you to do it."

"It won't destroy me," Merlin grumbled.

"Hold him up," Balinor ordered. Merlin's eyes glowed and Arthur's body lifted. The change was so gentle, it didn't wake the sleeping prince. Balinor shoved Arthur's shirt up, pressed the poultice to the wound, then secured it with bandages. He moved to the fire. Merlin set Arthur down and rearranged the blanket to cover him.

Merlin slouched down next to the low burning fire. His eyes flashed and sticks whirled into it, providing more fuel. Balinor was setting up a cooking pot on the other side. He dumped what appeared to be several herbs into it, then filled it with water from a skin. His eyes gleamed, heating the mixture in seconds. He stirred for a time. Merlin steadfastly avoided looking his direction. They didn't speak again until Arthur began to waken. Balinor poured the liquid from the pot into a bowl and pushed it into Merlin's hands. "Get him to take this."

"You wouldn't heal him if you thought him beyond hope," Merlin muttered.

Balinor didn't reply. He lay down, resting his head against a log and closing his eyes.

Merlin returned to Arthur. "Arthur?"

The prince groaned and opened his eyes.

"I have something to help." He held up the bowl.

Arthur weakly nodded and pushed up. Merlin set the bowl down, helping him to a sitting position. He handed the bowl to Arthur who sipped it slowly. He scrunched up his face. "What is it?"

"A medicine I think."

Arthur's eyes flicked to the man apparently dosing across the way. " _He_ made this."

"Yeah."

Arthur lowered his spoon.

"You can trust him. He took care of your wound."

"He drugged us."

Merlin sighed. "I think he thought that the only way to take me without trouble."

"You went willingly?"

Merlin shook his head.

"Let's get out of here."

Merlin grabbed Arthur's arm to stop him. "You're still hurt. And I can't go yet. He _is_ my father."

Arthur scowled at the long haired man. "He doesn't own you, Merlin."

"I'm going back to Camelot," Merlin promised, "but..." His heart thumped. He couldn't tell Arthur who his father really was, who he was. Arthur had just been attacked by _another_ sorcerer, proving magic a source of wickedness once again.

"What?"

"I just can't leave yet. Give me some more time."

Arthur scrutinized Merlin, then his father. If his mother had shown up, he wouldn't want to leave either. "Where's my sword?"

Merlin stood, retrieving the weapon he'd secured when they'd found Arthur and the dead knights. "Here."

Arthur grasped the sword as if it were the dearest of friends. His eyes hardened. "If he tries to take you away again, he'll have me to answer to this time."

Merlin glanced back at Balinor. "He won't."

Arthur eased, spooning more of the herbal soup into his mouth. "How did you find me?"

"Nero." It was a half-truth anyway.

Arthur snorted. "I _thought_ he was leading me to you. For a blind bird, he's rather capable. He must love you so much he can find you anywhere."

"He found you, too," Merlin smiled.

"Yes, well, I don't think he loves _me_. But I must say, I'm surprised at his instincts. I've never known a bird to be so keen."

"He's smart."

Arthur nodded in agreement.

"Arthur. Some of the knights are dead."

Arthur swallowed and lowered the spoon again. "You saw bodies?"

Merlin nodded.

"How many?"

"Six."

Arthur spoke on as if he hadn't just heard he'd lost all the men that had accompanied him on his search for Merlin. "We stumbled upon the bandits. At least one was a sorcerer." The barest hint of moisture glazed across his eyes. "Do you know where they are? We need to retrieve them."

"I can find them." Merlin bowed his head. "I'm sorry."

"What do you have to be sorry for?"

"That they died because you were looking for me."

Merlin felt a hand on his shoulder and lifted his head.

"How is it your fault your father dragged you off? How are bandits your fault? How is sorcery your fault? Don't carry this on your back like an overburdened mule." Arthur ruffled his hair in his usual manner.

Merlin let a grim smile grace his face. He didn't see the eyes cracked across the clearing, a man supposedly dosing who was listening to the whole conversation.

Merlin pushed to his feet. "I...have to find more wood for the fire. I'll be back. Just," he looked back at Balinor, then to Arthur, "don't hurt him. Please."

Arthur met Merlin's pleading eyes and nodded. He wouldn't do anything...yet.

* * *

Balinor kept his eyes closed for a long while. His body may have been still, but his mind was whirling. He'd imagined Arthur Pendragon to be like his father—cold, distant, angry. But the Arthur that spoke with Merlin sounded entirely different—loyal, supportive, protective. Merlin had emphasized while relating his service to Arthur that the prince had taken every opportunity to provide for his comfort and protection. Balinor's jaw tightened. Still, the young man was Uther's son. How was it right for a Pendragon to possess the loyalty that should be his?

A rustling sounded across the clearing and Balinor opened his eyes. Arthur had stood, clutching at his side. "You shouldn't be moving around."

Arthur's gaze jerked to him. "I don't take orders from _you_."

Balinor flung a hand out at him. "Fine. Reopen the wound."

Arthur had raised his shirt, assessing the bandage wrapped around his middle. "I suppose I owe you my gratitude." Balinor bowed his head in acknowledgment. Arthur dropped his shirt and held up his sword. "But if you try to take Merlin again..."

"You'll what? Kill me?" Balinor laughed. "You are Uther's son."

"What does that mean?"

Balinor scooted closer to the fire. "It means the Pendragon line has destroyed enough people without getting their hands on my son."

Arthur laughed snidely. "And what right do you have to the boy? He's been without you all his life."

Balinor's eyes flamed. "He's my blood."

Arthur stared hard back. "But he's _my_ responsibility."

"Not anymore."

Arthur shook his sword at the man. "Merlin said he's coming back to Camelot and he is. You will not stop him."

Balinor rose slowly. "He'll go back there over my dead body."

"So his choice means nothing to you."

"He's just a boy."

"You. Won't. Have. Him."

"Then kill me now, Arthur Pendragon, because he's not going anywhere with you."

Arthur fought the anger in his heart, the labored breathing that caused him to gnash his teeth against the pain in his lungs. "I don't want to kill you."

Balinor backed away, sitting on the log. "If you're hungry, there's food there." He pointed to a lumpy bag. "I assume you don't trust me enough to hand it to you."

Arthur didn't budge.

"Suit yourself." Balinor crossed his arms over his chest.

Arthur finally lowered his sword and stepped warily to the bag, flipping it open. He picked out some dried meat and made his way to the other side of the clearing. He weighed the meat in his hands.

"I promise it's not poisoned."

Arthur squinted at Balinor. "I wish I could trust you."

"If I wanted to kill you, I'd just have let you die from your wound."

"Why didn't you?"

Balinor looked uncomfortably away.

"Because of Merlin." Arthur bit off a bit of meat and chewed. It wasn't going to be easy to figure out how to keep this man from going after his son short of taking his life. "Why now?"

"What?"

"Why come for him now?"

Balinor met Arthur's eyes, but didn't speak immediately. He certainly couldn't say because Kilgharrah had found him in the Dragonlords' Sanctuary and informed him his son was an answer to prophecy and ensconced in the heart of Camelot. "It was time."

Arthur peered into the woods. "Merlin's happy in Camelot. He has everything he needs and more."

"So he's told me."

Arthur glared at the man. "If he meant anything to you, you would have let us take you to Camelot, then told him who you were."

Balinor guffawed. "Your father would have me in chains the moment I stepped through the gates."

"So you _are_ a criminal."

"If my crime is trying to make peace, then yes."

Arthur laughed incredulously. "My _father's_ made peace. He's protected his kingdom from the likes of you."

"Your father hunts people that have done _nothing_ to him."

"You're a liar."

"The Druids are not a threat!"

Arthur stammered a little when he answered, unsure how the Druids were related to the issue at hand. "They...practice sorcery."

"And that makes them worthy of death?"

"Yes!"

"Even children?"

Arthur gulped, recalling his attack on the Druids two years ago, broken little bodies he'd pushed into the recesses of his mind. "War causes many to suffer who should not."

"Has your father taught you that to justify himself?"

Arthur trudged away from the dragonlord into the woods, but footfalls stomped after him.

"Can you not bear the truth?"

Arthur kept stalking, swinging his head back and forth.

"Does your own heart judge you guilty? How many have you killed that never raised a hand to you?"

Arthur tried to ignore the taunting. Where in the world was Merlin?

"Answer me!"

Arthur twisted around, brandishing his sword. "Don't tempt me to fight you!" Balinor scowled and Arthur glanced around again. "How long does it take to find a few sticks of wood?"

Balinor now let his own gaze roam over the woods. What had Merlin told the prince? He was looking for firewood? But the fire hadn't needed it. Sudden fear gripped Balinor's chest. _Blast his son!_ Balinor took off, sprinting. Pounding feet behind him indicated Arthur had followed.

"Go home! This is none of your business!" Balinor shouted.

"Where is Merlin?"

Balinor didn't answer, running as fast as he could to find the boy before it was too late.

* * *

Merlin knew he didn't have much time. Arthur would surely come looking for him when he didn't return with the firewood. He hoped to find the cave within minutes and then do whatever he must to prove he was Emrys. His father's words kept replaying in his mind: _That place can drive a man out of his mind_. But Kilgharrah had argued Merlin wouldn't be harmed, and when Merlin weighed his trust, Kilgharrah won every time.

He didn't know how long he had gone north when Nero appeared. The kestrel landed on his shoulder. Merlin gave him a cursory pat, but kept picking his way ahead, frosty morning dew crunching under his feet. After some time, Merlin yelped when the kestrel nipped at his ear.

"Ouch! Nero!"

A second sting followed.

"Stop!"

When it happened a third time, Merlin shifted the bird from his shoulder to his arm. "You want to be warm?" But Nero fidgeted so much he shook the bird off his arm. The kestrel clung onto his head and rapidly beat his wings. Merlin swiped at the bird, and Nero flew a few feet away, landing on a branch. Merlin paused to eye him. "What is it?"

"He does not wish to go near the cave."

Merlin started at Kilgharrah's voice and pushed through a dense patch of brush to discover the dragon settled before the yawning mouth of a cave. "Is that it?"

Kilgharrah dipped his head.

Merlin stepped up to the entrance. It didn't look special from here. He glanced back at the dragon. "I won't be hurt?"

"You will not go mad."

Merlin caught the equivocation. "So I might get hurt?"

"You will not die."

Merlin hesitated. "What's going to happen?"

"I can't say."

"Kilgharrah..."

"I mean, young warlock, what occurs is different for every man. I cannot predict what will happen to you."

Merlin peered inside. "But if I do this, he'll believe I'm Emrys?"

"Balinor respects this place. He cannot easily dismiss what it reveals."

Merlin squared his shoulders, lit his palm, and strode inside.

* * *

Arthur kept pace at Balinor's side as he jogged through the forest. "Where has Merlin gone?"

"Get out of here!"

"And leave Merlin to you? Never."

Balinor tried to surge ahead, but Arthur matched him, his hand pressed into his side. "You're bleeding," Balinor informed him as he observed blood smears between his fingers.

"Shut up."

Balinor slowed. "You can't push yourself like this."

"I'm not leaving Merlin to you!"

"Why not? Why does my boy mean so much to you?" Balinor shouted.

"He's meant to be in Camelot!"

Balinor stopped running entirely. Arthur halted, bending over and gasping in pain. "And what would make you think that?"

"I don't know," Arthur wheezed. "It's just...Merlin...he's part of it now and..."

"What?"

"Him not there...it'd be like losing my right arm." Arthur knelt down, recovering his breath.

Balinor stared. The prophecy of Emrys and the Golden Prince taunted him. He could not deny some bond between Merlin and Arthur Pendragon. But why did it have to be _his_ son?

Balinor crouched down, lifting Arthur's shirt. The prince made to squirm away. "Just let me look at it." Arthur stilled. Balinor pulled at the bloody bandage, peering underneath. Only a small portion of the scar had torn away. "It's not bad, but you shouldn't move."

Arthur laid his sword down, then gripped Balinor's arm. "Tell me where Merlin is."

Balinor sighed. "He's trying to prove himself to me."

Arthur felt immediate concern. He understood trying to prove oneself to a father and almost always it had led him into peril. "What's he doing?"

"There's a cave. It's...dangerous."

"And why does he think he has to go there?" Arthur accused.

Balinor tried to think of an excuse. "I may have mentioned it would show me his true mettle."

Arthur pushed Balinor away and stood to his feet, glaring at him. What a father! "Take me there."

"It's not a place for you."

Arthur pressed on, heading the direction Balinor had been going.

"Stop!"

"I'll find it on my own."

"You must not..."

A screech interrupted Balinor as Nero appeared, flapping desperately and landing at Arthur's feet. "Nero!" Arthur commanded. "Take me to Merlin."

The kestrel obediently took off and Arthur followed. Balinor's eyes began to glow. He couldn't let Arthur Pendragon anywhere near the heart of magic on earth.


	42. The Crystal Cave

**Author's Note:** This story arc is taking way longer than I thought it would, but then, it's combining the ideas of several episodes. Thanks for hanging with me! And "Happy Thanksgiving" to all my readers in the States! One thing I'm thankful for today is all the readers who've taken a chance and joined me on this journey!

* * *

Lancelot reined in his horse when they reached the base of the mountain. He glanced south, then north. "Which way?"

Morgana didn't answer. He turned to look at her and startled. Her hand was to her breast, her green eyes wide.

"Morgana?"

She took a shuddering breath and raised a finger to point. "This way."

Lancelot tapped his heels into his steed. "How do you know?"

"I can feel it."

"Feel what?"

"Something...strong. I can't describe it."

Lancelot's hands tightened on the reins. Could it be Merlin she felt? Did magic call to magic? But if so, why hadn't she guessed at Merlin's secret yet? Or had she and hadn't told him?

Lancelot trotted parallel to her. "Morgana."

"What?" she asked distractedly.

"Do you know of anyone else with magic in Camelot?"

Morgana laughed derisively. "Anyone who has magic has been murdered by our king."

"But if there was someone there, you wouldn't be alone."

Morgana looked over at him with an ironic smile. "No one with magic would choose to stay in Camelot." She laid a hand on his arm with a grateful eye. She turned back to the mountain.

Lancelot watched her move ahead of him. So she didn't know. He wasn't sure if he felt reassured or sorry.

* * *

The spell had just touched Balinor's lips when a violent force shut his mouth and a voice chanted in his head. He tried to resist, but his feet turned without his permission, pulling him opposite the prince running through the brush. By the time Kilgharrah appeared in a clearing, he was seething.

"How dare you!" Balinor growled.

"You...should not...interfere." Kilgharrah's half-lidded eyes burned brightly and he trembled all over.

"Let me go!"

"Not...yet."

"You should die for this rebellion."

"You...would kill...me?"

Balinor's eyes could have speared the dragon. Never since he had been alive had a dragon used the connection with the dragonlords to subvert a will. The act demanded the worst torture and death for the dragon who so used his power. Dragons were meant to submit to them, not the other way around.

"Let Merlin...prove who he...is."

"Arthur Pendragon is heading to the cave!"

"This discovery is...for them both."

Balinor's eyes glowed. He fought to release himself and gasped when his magic met Kilgharrah's, two wills clashing in battle.

* * *

The moment Merlin had stepped foot into the cave, something changed. Although nothing moved in the shadows cast upon the wall, the dark awoke, a living being responding to his presence. Merlin wasn't sure if this should frighten him or make him more confident.

He moved slowly ahead into a large cavern. He skirted the walls for some time, searching for a way ahead. Nothing had happened yet, and he could only think he must journey further in to find whatever would reveal his true nature. He reached a series of thick stalagmites rising from the floor like a gate; beyond them a light flickered. This had to be it. Merlin jumped back when running a hand over one of the pillars caused them all to melt into the floor.

"Merlin!"

Merlin turned, his face registering shock. "Arthur?" He almost forgot to extinguish his light, but quickly snuffed it out, slamming his hand against his leg.

"Where are you?"

Merlin didn't reply. He stood still in indecision, debating if he should press on or go to the prince until he heard a crash and Arthur cursed, then groaned in pain. He backtracked until he came upon a body in his path. "Are you okay?"

Arthur grasped the hand Merlin laid on his arm. "Get out of here!"

"There's something I need to do."

"You have no idea what could be in here...Ahhhh!" Arthur yelled when Merlin found his wound and felt around it. He shoved Merlin's hand off. "Stop!"

Merlin rubbed his fingers together, sensing a disturbing stickiness. "You're bleeding! You shouldn't be in here."

"You shouldn't either," Arthur grumbled. He yanked on Merlin's arm to stand, but only managed to balance on his knees.

"Arthur."

"It's fine."

"How bad is it?"

"The wound's reopened a little is all."

Merlin felt torn. "I should get you out of here, but...I need to..."

"Merlin." Arthur's voice grew softer with understanding. "You don't have to prove anything to your father."

Merlin's eyes widened in the dark. "You...know?"

"I don't know what's here, but you don't have to prove your bravery to your father by facing unknown dangers in the dark. It's foolish. You're already brave even if he doesn't think so."

Merlin relished the pride in Arthur's tone, but felt the sting of disappointment at the same time. He had thought for one fleeting moment Arthur knew about his magic and had accepted it. He glanced towards the exit to the cave. He should leave for Arthur's sake, but he'd be back in the same position, his father trying to keep him away from the prince. Arthur's next words made the decision for him.

"What is that light?"

"Huh?"

"That." Arthur's hand made it to Merlin's shoulder and he used the boy as leverage to stand.

"Nothing. Let's go."

"There shouldn't be light anywhere in here." Arthur moved farther into the cave and Merlin grasped onto his arm to hold him back.

"You're hurt. We need to get back to my father."

Arthur was drawing his sword. "Stay behind me, Merlin."

"I thought you said we needed to leave."

"Not yet."

They had reached the melted stalagmites, and Merlin could now see Arthur's eyes in the dim light. He looked mesmerized, like a moth drawn to a flame. "Arthur! Please. Stop."

Arthur turned on him. "Where's the courage you had but a moment ago?"

Immediate hurt tightened Merlin's chest.

"She's calling me," Arthur said, turning back to the light.

"Who?"

"Someone I know. Or knew."  
Balinor's words screamed in Merlin's ears, warning against a place where men went mad. His heartbeat battered his ribs. He had to get Arthur out of here before it was too late using any means possible. "Arthur... Don't hate me. _Á_ _ciere_ _—_ "

Before he could complete the spell, Arthur bolted, sprinting towards the light.

* * *

Fire licked beneath Morgana's skin, a painless warmth that sizzled when she reached a yawning hole. She dismounted, creeping to the edge and peering into the dark. It was here. _Something_ was here. And it must have Arthur and Merlin in its grasp.

She made to step inside, but sudden dizziness drove her to her knees. Lancelot was by her side in seconds. She jerked on his arm. "Help me."

Lancelot stared worriedly into her eyes. "Are you hurting?"

Morgana shook her head. "No...This is where they are. In here. We must get to them."

Lancelot stood, unsheathing his sword. "You stay here."

"No!"

Lancelot glanced down. "Morgana..."

"I must go in."

"In this state?"

Morgana gripped his leg, attempting to pull herself up. "I must!"

"Alright," Lancelot said, giving her his hand. He wrenched her to her feet and let her cling to his arm. Brandishing his sword, they entered the dark maw.

* * *

Merlin didn't catch up to Arthur until the prince stopped, fully bathed in the light, staring as if he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. The moment Merlin beheld the shining cavern, the magic in his body spiked a hundredfold. An intoxicating euphoria assaulted his senses, and he flung out his hand to steady himself on a tunnel wall.

The chamber that met their eyes was packed with a kaleidoscope of glowing crystals, flashing and thrumming to different rhythms. Merlin could hardly bear to look on them. He closed his eyes to recover his breath and cracked them open again, drinking in the throbbing rainbow of color. He felt a draw on his soul, but before he took a step, Arthur spoke.

"She's...here," the prince stammered. He lowered his sword and walked straight in.

"Ar-thur," Merlin garbled through overwhelming magic. He wanted to follow and he wanted to stay, to bask in the crystals' effects and flee them as fast as he could.

"Mother," Arthur called out.

Merlin watched in horror as Arthur crumbled to the floor.

Merlin forced himself to move, but the moment he stepped into the crystal forest, the world swirled. The crystals came to life, images flashing in their depths, hundreds of sounds and voices assaulting his ears. Merlin collapsed to all fours, then curled in on himself, screwing his eyes shut and covering his ears.

* * *

Balinor could hardly breathe, yet he struggled with all his might against the depths of ancient magic that flowed from the great dragon. Kilgharrah shook so harshly his scales rippled in the sun's light. Finally, with a breath of relief that sent warm air showering over Balinor, Kilgharrah settled to the ground and released the dragonlord.

Balinor pitched onto his back, sucking in precious air, eyes roving over the defiant dragon. He tried to think straight through the anger and betrayal. Long ago he'd been taught archaic words that would wound a dragon to its very soul, but he'd been strictly taught never, ever to say them unless a dragon subverted the order of things. Now the words came back to him, resting on the tip of his tongue, but as he stared at the motionless dragon, he couldn't voice them.

"Kil-gharrah?"

The dragon didn't respond and sudden fear overtook Balinor's pain. Had the dragon died in the effort to fight against him? Balinor crawled to the giant form, laying a hand on his scaly snout. A steady breath caressed his hand. Tears rolled down Balinor's cheeks. Kilgharrah lived.

"Emrys." The rumbling word ushered from deep in Kilgharrah's belly, issuing forth through a mouth barely open. "He is there."

* * *

"It's too dark," Lancelot worried, biting his lip against the stranglehold Morgana had on his arm.

"There," Morgana strained out. "Ahead."

Lancelot glanced around, unsure what she meant. He was about to tell her he saw no way forward without a torch, when he spied the barest hint of light.

Morgana let go his arm and stumbled towards it.

"Wait." He gripped her elbow. "We don't know what it is. Who we might face."

Morgana pushed against him. "I have to get to it."

"Yes, but stay near me. How can I protect you otherwise?"

"I don't need protection."

Lancelot cocked his head. "This is a fine time to decide that."

Morgana's eyes suddenly glowed and all strength left Lancelot's body as he sank to the floor. She moved forward, stepping over rocks, stumbling into obstacles, the light's hold tempting her ever nearer.

* * *

Merlin twisted and writhed, waves of magic pounding through his body from every crystal in the room. The images had stopped when he closed his eyes, but the voices radiated through his skull despite his hands pressing tightly over his ears. They crescendoed, swelling to a fevered pitch, all in unison shouting in his brain: _Emrys!_

Merlin's eyes shot open. The name had been a command. The images did not reappear, at least, not entirely. The magic had settled and Merlin sat up, but a violet crystal jutted out before him and the moving picture in it awed him. He saw himself and Will, running through summer fields outside Ealdor, reaching their climbing tree and scrambling upwards. He couldn't be more than five. A flash out of the corner of his eye, and he beheld an emerald crystal nestled against the purple. The grasses of Ealdor disappeared as the emerald came alive, white Camelot spires appearing in all their glory and now King Uther standing on a balcony, smiling and waving to a large crowd.

Merlin rubbed at his eyes. What was he seeing? He turned to another crystal, this one a sea blue and he jumped when his own eyes met him, unnaturally large and glowing gold. He had never seen what happened to his eyes when he used magic, though he knew they changed color. The image pulled back to reveal himself standing in a forest, and across from him a branch crashing down on a wild boar that was charging Arthur.

Arthur! Merlin wrested his gaze away from the crystals to the lifeless body on the ground. He dragged himself over to Arthur. The prince's eyes were open in a motionless stare. "Arthur?" Merlin touched his cheek, patting gently, but there was no response.

 _Look!_

Merlin raised his head at a second command.

 _Look and remember!_

This time a yellowy crystal demanded his attention, and he cried out. A man knelt in front of a block. An ax came down and blood flowed. Merlin wanted to duck his head, but couldn't. More violence followed, Arthur swinging a sword, cutting down unarmed robed sorcerers kneeling in defeat. Blood splattered his armor and dripped down his face.

Merlin jerked his gaze away only to meet a crystal the color of a deep sunset, displaying King Uther asleep in his bedchamber. A shadow loomed on the wall and Uther's eyes shot open. His face paled, faded blue, and he died alone and helpless. Merlin couldn't look anymore. He couldn't. He floundered away from Arthur, staggering towards the tunnel, but tripped over Arthur's legs. Pulling himself up, he met a red crystal throbbing with light and his eyes locked on a young man with longer dark hair and stubble on his chin, a staff in his right hand. The sky above him darkened, lightning flashed, illuminating a valley full of soldiers in a fight for their lives. Arthur appeared at the sorcerer's side, his sword drawn, muttering a few words, and clapping a hand on the sorcerer's shoulder, then he careened down the side of the hill, an army at his back.

Merlin shoved the heels of his hands into his eyelids. "Stop," he pleaded. "Stop! No more!"

 _Emrys._ The voice became soft, almost apologetic, and fading. _Emrys._

Merlin stiffened, relaxed, and knew no more.

* * *

Arthur wandered the halls of Camelot in confusion. This didn't look right. He hadn't been here a moment ago. He'd been somewhere dark, then light, or maybe, colorful? Tinkling laughter drew his attention and he continued on. He found himself in front of his father's royal chambers. The door was cracked open and he peeked inside.

His father sat on his bed, and an expression Arthur had never seen on his face captivated him, a smile that lit up his eyes, dancing with joy. His arm was extended, resting on the rounded belly of a woman with golden hair cascading over her shoulders in shining waves. Arthur felt he disturbed something private and made to pull away, but the scene abruptly changed.

The woman now lay on the bed, screaming in pain. His father stood to her side, tears coursing down his cheeks, yelling for some help to be given to her. Gaius appeared, speaking in tones so low Arthur couldn't hear his words over the woman's cries of agony. Then another woman passed within his field of vision, pacing back and forth. Her back, accented with long dark hair tied in braids, was to him.

The woman on the bed shrieked, and Gaius knelt at the end of the bed. An infant's wailing cry filled the room. Gaius moved towards Uther, a newborn child flailing in his hands. Uther held the child for a moment, his eyes alight with the same joy Arthur had seen before. A midwife took the infant back, gently setting him inside a washbasin and proceeding to pour water over his tiny body. Gaius had leaned over the woman and looked up to the king, speaking words that changed his father's features in an instant. Cold anger that punched Arthur in the gut fell upon the woman with the braided hair.

Uther began to shout. The woman to argue back. The argument assaulted Arthur's ears—"This wasn't meant to happen." "She's dead!" "Magic has given you a son." "It took my wife!" "You wanted this." "You lied." "The price was paid." "You're a heartless witch!" Uther raging, crying, screaming out for guards. The woman lunging at the babe in the basin. Uther leaping in front of her, screaming as fire burned his clothes away and smoked on his chest. A whirlwind swirled around the woman and she disappeared, leaving the midwife staring in shock, the wailing child clutched to her breast, Gaius on the floor next to Uther, hands picking at the gory wound, the woman dead on a bed whose end was soaked in deep red blood.

The room went black.

* * *

Morgana made it to the light. She beheld Merlin and Arthur inside a chamber streaming bright colors from jeweled crystals. She ran, meeting Merlin first. She knelt next to his still form, but saw that he breathed. She moved to Arthur whose eyes were open but blank. A hand to his lips confirmed he lived. She glanced around. She felt the magic of this place like a vibrating string on a monotonous lute.

 _Sister._ Morgana's head whipped behind her. She didn't see anyone, but she was certain there had been a voice.

 _Sister._

"Who's there?" Morgana called out. Was this the person who had harmed Arthur and Merlin?

 _Sister._

Morgana stood. "Who are you? Show yourself!" She stepped cautiously towards the voice and suddenly in front of her was a black crystal and within a woman sporting long chestnut hair tinted gold. She smiled, and Morgana heard words in her mind even though the woman's mouth did not open.

 _Come to me, sister. Come._

Morgana stared disbelieving.

 _Come. It is time for Uther's reign to end._

The woman held up her hand, waving it. Morgana gasped. She now saw herself in the corridors of Camelot, and on her head a crown of royalty like to Arthur's. She hesitated in front of the doors that led to the throne room, then pushed them open. Arthur knelt in the room in front of a low dais on which Uther rested, pale, devoid of life. Morgana knelt next to him, and he embraced her and wept. Morgana held him, but her eyes carried more than sorrow. Guilt stared at the body, shame gleaming in terror.

Morgana's chin trembled as she backed away from the crystal. Her eyes filled with tears and she wailed. "NO!"

* * *

Kilgharrah's head snapped up. "The ward! She should not be here!"

"Kilgharrah?" Balinor was just managing to pull himself to his feet.

"Morgana, daughter of Vivienne. She is there!"

"What? No!" Balinor turned, stumbling back towards the cave.


	43. Emrys

Lancelot had just regained the use of his limbs and repossessed his sword when Morgana ran past him.

"Morgana!" He reached out to grab her arm, but she dodged it and left the cave. He sprinted after her. "Did you find them? Are they dead?"

She mounted and took off, galloping into the forest. Lancelot spat out a curse, then leaped onto his own horse. He pursued her as best he could, but she was urging her horse to its limits.

"Morgana!" he kept shouting.

Finally, when the horse tired of its dead run and slowed, he pulled alongside her and flung out his hand to snatch her horse's reins. He struggled against her for several seconds until her horse halted. "Easy. Woah. Easy."

Morgana slipped from her horse's back the moment it stilled. Lancelot cursed again, quickly wrapping both pairs of reins to a nearby bush and running after her. He grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around. Tears streaked her cheeks.

"What was that back there?" he demanded.

Morgana shook her head. "Leave me."

She made to turn but he held fast. "No."

"I hurt you," she exclaimed. "It was that place. I couldn't think. I'm sorry."

Lancelot's expression lost some of its fury. "I'm not hurt."

"I didn't even know I could do that."

Lancelot took her shoulders and pulled her into him, running a hand through her hair. "I'm alright."

Morgana wept into his chest.

"It can't be just this," Lancelot muttered. "You wouldn't be so upset if it was just lashing out at me."

Morgana trembled in his grasp. "I saw a woman."

"In the cave?"

"In a crystal. There was some power in it and darkness and this woman and she told me..." Morgana stumbled.

"What?"

Morgana refused to meet his gaze. She couldn't ever tell what she had seen, the terrible guilt in her own eyes. "She told me Uther's reign will end...and...showed me his body on the dais. Dead. Arthur grieving."

"Just another nightmare."

"No. This was as real as you are here before me."

"Even if you did see him dead, this won't happen for a long time, surely."

"Arthur wasn't much older than now."

"Still..."

"I see the future!" Morgana shouted. "Stop placating me!

Lancelot firmly pushed her back and met her eyes. "Even if you have seen the future, it does not mean what you have seen must come to pass. Remember Arthur at the tournament? He didn't die." He ran a hand over her brow to calm her. "Did you see Merlin? Arthur?"

Morgana gasped. She had forgotten all about them in her haste to get away from the cave. "They were there. Alive, but asleep."

"We must go get them." Lancelot turned back towards the horses, but Morgana grasped his arm.

"I can't go back there. Please."

"It's alright..."

"It will call me again. Make me hurt you. Please."

Lancelot put a loving hand behind her head. "Stay here. I'll go see to them. Wait for me."

"Don't tell them what I saw."

"Morgana..."

"Promise me!"

"I promise they will not know."

* * *

Balinor was out of breath when he reached the cave, but he didn't stop, running straight through. He had only been here once when a boy to observe a sacred ritual. He had stayed well away from the crystals, though their power washed over him regardless. He felt it now, calling him further in. He ran until he reached the entrance to the crystal cavern, then skidded to a stop. He could see Merlin laying face down, eyes closed, Arthur not too far from him, eyes open but unseeing. He looked every which way for the seer. She was not present. Why had Kilgharrah sensed her?

A soft moan brought Balinor's attention back to his son. Why had the dragon let him come here? This place was hard enough for a man, but a boy? He couldn't be Emrys, not passed out on the floor as he was. Curse Kilgharrah for his optimistic hopes!

Balinor closed his eyes for a moment, gathering the courage to enter. What would happen to him if he dare trespassed? It didn't matter. His son was in need. He opened his eyes and dashed in, making it to Merlin. He knelt down, touching the boy's shoulder. He meant to speak his name but the moment his hand connected he found himself in Ealdor, in Hunith's home, in her bed.

His breath caught in his throat and his cheeks flushed. He was cupping Hunith's chin. Her worn lips pressed into his and he returned the kiss, savoring her earthy scent. He lay back, more whole and satisfied than he had been in years as Hunith nestled into him, but then something changed, something he had missed the first time around. A tremor rippled through his blood, magic coming alive. The world paused briefly to observe the creation of a new life, and even though he saw nothing, Balinor knew Hunith's womb blossomed with the greatest of magical beings ever to walk the earth. The vision faded. A tear slipped down his cheek.

Balinor stared in awe at his son. How it had happened and why to him and a plain village woman, he didn't know. It certainly wasn't his power that had done this. It could only be time and prophecy. Merlin was meant to exist at this very moment, in this very time.

Balinor gently turned his son over. "Merlin," he whispered.

Merlin's eyelids fluttered open. "Father."

More tears escaped Balinor's control. He put a hand to his son's cheek. "Emrys."

Merlin held out his hand. Balinor gripped it, pulling him up and embracing him, racked with his tears. Merlin buried his face in his father's shoulder.

 _Emrys. Emrys._

Balinor pulled back. "Kilgharrah."

Merlin spoke to the dragon. _He accepts me._

 _Yes, but Arthur needs you._

Merlin let go his father as he remembered Arthur. He moved over to the prince and lay a hand on his chest. _Is he dying?_

 _He is lost in his mind. He must find his way back._

 _How?_

 _Carry his burden._

 _What does that mean?_

 _See as he sees._

 _I don't understand._

 _You and the crystals are one. Let their magic flow through you._

Merlin took a long breath. He leaned in as close as he could, touching his forehead to Arthur's. He let his guard down, drinking in the magic of the room once more. For a moment, he couldn't breathe as the waves punished his mind. Then he imagined himself as a conduit for the magic and cried out as it scorched through his body.

And then he wasn't in the room anymore. He was in Camelot, with Arthur, peering into the king's chambers. The king was happy, caressing a woman's pregnant belly, and then the same woman was dying in childbirth. He saw the infant prince, the argument with Nimueh, Uther wounded. And then it repeated again...and again...and again.

Merlin grasped Arthur's arm, yanking him away from the king's chambers. At first, the prince resisted, but Merlin channeled all the magic into his hold, and Arthur snapped back towards him. Merlin heard a gasp. He threw up a shield in his mind. The magic receded. He opened his eyes to see Arthur blinking, then he was suddenly sobbing, heaving with the force of his cries.

"We must get him out of here," Balinor urged.

Together they lifted Arthur from the floor, Balinor wrapping an arm around the prince's waist and taking most of the weight. They traversed the rocky cavern, making it out into the fresh air. Balinor set Arthur on his feet, but the prince began to fall, his head lolling.

"Back to camp then," Balinor noted.

By the time they reached their camp, Arthur had collapsed again. Balinor carried him over his shoulder and gingerly laid him down on the blankets he'd provided. Merlin knelt next to his father as he examined Arthur's wound. The poultice was stained red. Balinor frowned.

"What is it?" Merlin asked.

"He's hot. Feverish."

"Infection?"

"Possibly. Or whatever happened to him in the cave."

"Why didn't you stop him?" Merlin accused.

Kilgharrah's deep voice answered as he arrived in the clearing. "Balinor _wished_ to stop him. I could not let that happen."

Merlin stood, shaking in anger. "Why did you let him follow me? He almost died in there!"

"He needed to be there so your father could see."

Balinor looked sideways at the dragon. "The connection."

"What?" Merlin demanded.

Balinor turned to his son. "The magic bond between you and the prince. You brought him back. It should have been impossible."

Merlin threw his hands in the air and raged at Kilgharrah. "That wasn't worth Arthur almost dying! How could you even be sure he'd be okay?"

Kilgharrah tilted his head. "Because you took his burden. You have great power."

"Explain this to me," Merlin more pleaded than yelled.

Balinor spoke quietly. "What did you see in the cave?"

Merlin balled his fists but answered. "Pictures in these crystals, moving. Me and Will in Ealdor. Arthur killing sorcerers. King Uther dying. I think me grown up, and Arthur and I at a battle." He threw out a hand. "What does it matter?"

Kilgharrah flicked his wise gaze to Balinor, then back to Merlin. "You saw the past. You saw the present. You saw the future. All of it spoke to you. But more than this, you saw the possibilities of the prophecy."

Merlin's eyebrows met in confusion.

"The past cannot be changed," Kigharrah explained. "But the future is before all of us. For you, this can lead to Arthur ruling as his father, slaughtering innocents. Or it can lead to the joining of magic and might and the greatness of Albion on earth."

"Only Emrys is said to be able to see in _all_ the crystals," Balinor muttered.

"But Arthur. He saw something, too," Merlin argued. "I saw it when I helped him. His birth."

"He saw only his past," Kilgharrah clarified. "He has no capacity to see farther. He met the truth of himself, and such a thing is difficult for any man. But you also bear this truth. He was not overwhelmed in the cave because you sustained him."

Merlin recalled his conversation with Gaius about not letting Arthur know all the circumstances of his birth. "What will this do to him?" he murmured more to himself.

"Help him walk a better path."

Merlin scowled at Kilgharrah. "You shouldn't have sent him in there." Kilgahrrah opened his mouth, but Merlin shook his finger at him. "You should have told me! Everywhere I go someone is telling me what my destiny is, what Arthur's is! You want me to be Emrys and fulfill something I don't understand," he shot a glance at his father, "or guard the last dragon eggs or be Albion's hope or get away from Arthur. If I can't understand the future, how can either of you? How can you keep telling me what to do to make it all right?"

"Merlin," Balinor spoke softly. "I will help the prince. He'll survive."

Hot tears welled in Merlin's eyes. He turned and crouched down next to the prince, worry settling like lead in the pit of his stomach. _I'm sorry_. Arthur had been dragged into the argument between Kilgharrah and his father and who knew what it would cost him.

* * *

Balinor sat next to Kilgharrah, out of Merlin's earshot, but close enough that he watched his son dab a wet cloth to Arthur's forehead. Balinor had healed Arthur's wound again, though a small infection had persisted. Arthur suffered the effects, and the cave had probably weakened him as well.

"You shouldn't have let him go," Balinor whispered.

"Merlin or Arthur?"

"Prince Arthur. He's not Emrys."

"If you had believed more readily, both of them might have been spared this."

Balinor glanced up at the dragon. "Why don't I believe you? You wanted this to happen."

Kilgharrah's eyelids closed momentarily. "I knew some day Emrys would need to confront the cave. Your disbelief provided the opportunity."

"And the prince?"

"It was a risk."

Balinor shook his head and laughed under his breath. "Dragons. Pompous creatures."

Kilgharrah blew out a warm breath. "We have seen more than you, thousands of humans lived and buried. We know that without risk, nothing great can come to pass."

"Merlin's right. You do manipulate him for your own purposes."

"For mine?" Kilgharah's tone turned harsh. "If this were for myself I would have left Camelot to its own fate. For the sake of a people enduring the rule of Uther Pendragon, I have remained. And it is for their sakes I risked the life of the prince. Would he not choose to risk himself for his people?"

"But you didn't give him a choice."

"He did not know he had one. Would _you_ have explained it to him?"

Balinor sighed. "And what of the ward?"

"Morgana." Kilgharrah's voice was barely audible.

"I didn't see her there."

"Nevertheless, I sensed her presence."

"Then why?"

Kilgharrah rumbled deep within. "I fear those who would use her for their purposes. Could she be turned, she would make a powerful enemy."

"So they play with her as you play with Merlin?"

Kilgharrah growled. "Those who live in the present cannot escape the past though their actions did not directly cause the circumstances. I would see the light of Emrys break the darkness of Camelot."

Balinor raised his chin defiantly. "I won't use him. If he wants to go back to Camelot, then that is his choice."

"A wise one."

"Perhaps. You don't know what the future really holds, old friend. All your work might come to nothing."

Kilgahrrah's tail lashed in agitation.

"Don't go back with Merlin."

Kilgharrah dipped his head next to Balinor's. "I did not intend to."

Balinor craned his neck to look at him.

"Emrys will find his way. My place is with you and the last of my kin."

* * *

Morgana leaned back against a tree, staring at a swirling sky as tumultuous as her soul. She kept hearing the woman calling her "sister." She didn't have a sister. She had been the only child of Vivienne and Gorlois. And yet, something about the woman reminded her of herself. She wanted to cast away the vision as imagining, but her nightmares had proven the strength of her sight. This woman existed, could speak to her as Nimueh had.

Morgana winced in memory—Nimueh declaring, "You are the beginning of a new day and Uther's doom." The woman in the cave telling her, "It is time for Uther's reign to end." And seeing Arthur in grief as she held him and stared at Uther's body with the horror of regret.

Morgana twirled her bracelet. Lancelot had said what she had seen didn't have to happen. What was even the point of seeing if it didn't mean she had some power to effect events? Could she change what she had seen? Uther had done awful things. She knew why others might seek his death, but even so, she could not help but recall all he had done for her—the times he read with her in the library, both of them sharing their love of lore, when he praised her sword skill and lifted her onto his shoulders, parading around in victory, the way he always asked for forgiveness when they'd had a row.

No, Uther wasn't perfect. The death of his wife had scarred him to the detriment of magic wielders, but try as she might, Morgana could not bring herself to wish him dead. She clenched her fists, her eyes hardened. Uther would not die. She would not let it happen.

* * *

Lancelot trotted back to the cave and dismounted. Morgana had felt something here, but there was nothing that he could tell. He retrieved a torch from his pack, lit it, then scoured the inside of the cave. He didn't find anything, just walls and a plethora of stalagmites that got in his way. He exited in confusion. There had been a light before. And Morgana mentioned a crystal.

Lancelot sighed. He was useless when it came to magic it seemed. He hadn't been able to stop Arthur from attacking Alined when he was enchanted, and he hadn't convinced Morgana her nightmares weren't prophetical, and now he failed to find whatever she had seen here. Why in the world fate had decided to surround _him_ with magic he couldn't fathom.

His eyes fell on the ground outside the cave and his brow furrowed. Someone had passed here and recently. Fresh footprints marked the damp ground. He extinguished his torch, took the reins of his horse, and began to trace them.

* * *

Merlin huddled next to Arthur, hoping to add his warmth to the prince's. The fever had abated, Arthur's body responding to his father's magic, but the prince's arms had begun to prickle with gooseflesh. He kept his gaze on Arthur's face. Now and then the prince's brow creased as if something pained him. He wondered if Arthur thought as he slept, and if he did, what his dreams told him.

Merlin rubbed at his eyes. Once when he'd suffered a nightmare, he'd wandered the castle halls, enjoying a game of "avoid the guards after curfew" to take his mind off his dream. But then he'd been snagged from behind. He should have been thrown in the dungeon overnight, and was surprised when they marched him to Arthur's chambers. Turned out Arthur had informed the guards if he was ever caught doing anything, they should bring him to the prince first. Arthur had risen from a dead sleep, lectured him in front of the guards, then grinned after they left. When the prince heard he'd been troubled in sleep, he stripped the cover off his bed so Merlin could wrap up in it near the fire. They'd talked long into the night about things that didn't really matter, and Merlin couldn't remember much of what they'd said, but he couldn't forget how he'd felt—safe and protected and cared for.

Merlin scooted even closer into Arthur's side. Arthur had seen a living nightmare. His mother's death because of him. Carry his burden, Kilgharrah had said. Merlin reached out to smooth Arthur's hair off his forehead. "I'll help you through it," he whispered. "I promise."

"Merlin!"

Merlin glanced up in shock to see Lancelot rushing into the clearing.

"Where have you..." Lancelot stopped and his eyes grew so round, Merlin might have found it comical if the knight wasn't clearly afraid.

Merlin jumped up and followed his gaze to Kilgharrah.

Lancelot brandished his sword as Balinor rushed forwards. "Stay back!" the knight warned, though his voice held a tremor Merlin had never heard before.

"Lancelot! It's okay! He's my father."

"Has he hurt you?"

"No. I'm fine."

"And...that?" Lancelot pointed at Kilgharrah with his sword.

"Welcome, Sir Knight," Kilgharrah rumbled. "I believe you have aided Merlin in the past on my word. You have proved yourself brave and trustworthy."

"You _know_ this thing?" Lancelot asked.

Merlin smiled sheepishly. "Eh, a little, yeah. He was chained under the castle."

"What?"

"Uther said he killed him, but he didn't."

"The last dragon," Lancelot murmured.

"And, erm, this is my father." Merlin gestured towards Balinor. "He's...a dragonlord."

Lancelot stared blankly for a few seconds, then dropped his sword, looking resigned. "Of course he is."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** One more chapter left in this story arc! Next time it's back to Camelot and the fall out of events!


	44. Layers of Truth

**Author's Note:** This chapter is _double_ the length of the others, but I didn't want to break it into two. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Lancelot said, ticking off his fingers as he talked. "Your father showed up and drugged everyone and kidnapped you. He's a dragonlord and you're a dragonlord and he wanted you to take over for him. Nero showed you Arthur dying from a bandit attack and you jumped off a cliff to find him. You found him; your father healed him. And then you went into this cave to prove you're some supreme sorcerer from prophecy so that means you have to stay with Arthur."

Merlin nodded. "Yeah. That's it."

Lancelot eyed him warily. "Please tell me that's all to know about you."

Merlin thought for a moment. "I think that's everything."

"You don't have a unicorn secreted among the royal horses in disguise?"

Merlin laughed. "No."

"Just checking." Lancelot smiled. "Really, Merlin, you've pushed the boundaries of believability, but, well..."

"What?'

Lancelot raised a hand to indicate Kilgharrah across the clearing. "I certainly can't deny what I see."

"And it doesn't scare you?"  
"Oh, it scares me, but so far as I can tell you've done all you can to help Arthur, so magic can't all be evil."

Merlin sighed. "I wish Arthur was that way."

"Be patient with him. He's heard a lot from his father and he respects him."

"Yeah." Merlin stewed inside. There _was_ something he hadn't told Lancelot—what he had seen when he connected with Arthur in the cave. He figured that was personal and not his to divulge.

Lancelot glanced at Arthur's still form. "We need to get him back to Camelot."

"I know, but..." Merlin's voice faded as he looked at Balinor with Kilgharrah. He'd argued he had to go back, but now that the time had come, leaving his father felt like a hole that had filled was being emptied again.

"I know you just reunited and it turns out he's not all bad," Lancelot commented at Merlin's gaze, pushing aside his twinge of jealousy that even Merlin's father far outstripped his own, "but I can't be certain how long it will be until the king comes looking for Arthur himself."

Merlin's heart skipped a beat. Uther couldn't find his father. For Arthur's sake and for his father's, they must depart with Lancelot. Merlin stood. "Just give me a moment."

* * *

Balinor's heart grew heavy as Merlin walked towards him. He'd found his son, and his son was Emrys. All his dreams of Merlin banishing his lonely watch over the dragon eggs had come to naught. His son was the property of prophecy.

"Can Arthur travel safely?" Merlin asked.

Balinor slowly nodded. "He'll keep until Camelot and Gaius takes over his care."

"In that case..."

"You trust this knight?" Balior interrupted, eyes on Lancelot. "He's the king's man."

"He isn't," Merlin disagreed. "He's known about me for a long time and hasn't told anyone. He's helped me. He doesn't hate magic."

"He's killed sorcerers?"

"Never."

Balinor rubbed at his scruffy chin. "Some day he'll have to make a choice, just like the prince. I hope he chooses what's right."

"He will," Merlin asserted confidently.

Balinor shook his head in amazement at his son. Such faith and trust. He worried it might be misplaced in Arthur, but then, what Merlin had seen in the caves spoke to the possibilities of good to come from his presence in Arthur's life.

Balinor stood. "Then go back, but don't forget who you are. Be extra careful. Destiny has placed Albion in your hands."

Merlin bit his lip for a moment, then threw his arms around his father. Balinor wrapped him in a close embrace. He whispered. "You're going to make me proud. I know it." When Merlin pulled back, his eyes had grown wet. Balinor held his cheeks and wiped at them with his thumbs. "Kilgharrah will be with me. If you need me, speak your message to him."

Merlin turned his tear laden eyes to the dragon. "You're not coming back?"

"I am not, young warlock. I have set you on your path. I walk my own now. But I feel we will meet again. This is not a forever farewell."

Merlin found he suddenly felt abandoned.

Kilgharrah must have caught his emotion, because he continued. "You have your knight. You have the physician and the maid. And more than that, you have the prince. They may not understand all you face, but they walk beside you."

Balinor glanced up at Kilgharrah and a knowing look passed between them. Merlin narrowed his eyes. "What is it?"

"We have a warning," Kilgharrah spoke softly so Lancelot couldn't hear. "The king's ward. She can be a danger.  
"Morgana?" Merlin asked in confusion. "She's been nothing but good to me."

"Yet within her lies the potential for great power, a power that can easily turn to a dark path."

"Her seeing?"

Kilgharrah nodded solemnly. "I've told you before how ill visions are. You've experienced yourself the indecision and fear that can come from them. Be wary of her. Watch her."  
Merlin, seeing how serious they were, nodded.

Balinor laid a hand on his shoulder. "I will miss you."

"I'll miss you, too. Erm...but I think...mother might still love you. Maybe you could...go see her?"

Balinor's eyes rose in surprise.

"I mean, Kilgharrah could guard the eggs for a little, right?"

Balinor's expression turned contemplative. "I suppose he could."

Merlin grinned and made his way back to Lancelot, envisioning the complete family he'd never had.

* * *

Morgana leaped to her feet when she perceived Lancelot and Merlin striding before the knight's horse. Merlin waved to her and ran to meet her. She grasped his shoulders, then pulled him into her. "You're all right!"

"Of course I am," Merlin replied with a smile.

Morgana pushed him back. "You! You cannot keep doing this to us!"

"It's not _my_ fault," Merlin protested.

Morgana stretched her neck looking to Lancelot. "Where's Arthur?"

"Here," the knight replied, turning the horse so she could see the prince's body draped over it.

She darted over and lay her hand on his back, assuring herself he lived.

"He's stable," Lancelot commented. "He was attacked by bandits. Merlin and his father found him and aided him."

"Your father did?" Morgana turned to Merlin in surprise.

"He's not a bad man, not really," Merlin defended. "He didn't want to hurt anyone, but he, well, he committed a crime in Camelot a long time ago, and he thought he'd be recognized so he did something to take me without trouble."

"What kind of crime?" Morgana inquired, frowning.

"He didn't tell Merlin," Lancelot interjected. "But I don't think it matters. He didn't harm anyone. He said that."

"You met him?"

Lancelot bobbed his head. "I found Arthur and Merlin in a cave. Merlin's father was nearby."

Morgana worked to look confused. "Oh? Why were you in a cave?"

Merlin figured he should stick to the lie Arthur had assumed he'd been told. "Eh...He may have mentioned it would prove my bravery. I just wanted him to like me."

Morgana's face broke into a sad smile as she beckoned Merlin to her again. She slipped an arm around his waist and kissed his raven head. "My poor Merlin. Did Arthur follow you there?"

"You know him."

Morgana chuckled. "Always the hero. Your father let you go."

"I told him I wanted to go back to Camelot. He wasn't happy, but he let me."

Morgana tipped his chin with a finger. "Are you sure you want to come back? He's your father." What she wouldn't have given to have her own dear father back.

"Camelot's home," Merlin replied simply.

"Enough chatting," Lancelot encouraged. "Arthur is still in need of aid. We must get back as soon as we can. Merlin, ride with Morgana."

Morgana hesitated. "What of the knights with Arthur?"

Merlin sunk down a bit in her hold. "They're dead." Her grip tightened.

"We'll have to send a contingent back for them," Lancelot insisted. "Arthur must be our concern."

Morgana nodded and then mounted. She reached down to aid Merlin up behind her. He grasped her waist as they began the journey to the citadel.

"Lancelot said you wanted to find us," Merlin spoke into her back. "He tracked Arthur for you."

"Yes."

"Thank you for coming for us."

Morgana patted his hands at her waist. "You're welcome." They had found Merlin and Arthur and were safely headed back home. She should have been elated, but trepidation filled her mind. Every step closer to home brought her closer to her vision of doom.

* * *

When consciousness returned to Arthur, he meant to suck in a deep breath, but was overwhelmed by a flushing of his cheeks in reaction to an uncomfortable swaying. Before he could prevent it, bile burned up his throat and spewed from his mouth as he coughed violently. The swaying stopped. Strong hands gripped and pulled at him. All became still again, but indistinct voices echoed around him. A shiver shook his frame and something soft warmed him.

His fuzzy mind tried to piece together the last few hours, but was overtaken by the soreness of his muscles. And his side itched! He attempted to scratch and met a bandage.

"Not yet. It still needs to heal over."

Arthur finally wrenched his eyes open. "Merlin," he strained out at the smiling boy.

Merlin looked over his shoulder. "Lancelot and Morgana, too. They came looking for us."

Arthur raised his head and beheld the knight and ward close by. Morgana noticed and moved over to him, touching his shoulder. "How do you feel?"

"Thirsty."

Merlin dashed away for a water skin while Morgana wiped at his brow. "Merlin said he found you. You were wounded."

"I remember," Arthur mumbled.

Merlin returned with the water skin and held it to Arthur's lips as he drank his fill.

"And then _I_ found you both," Lancelot added his two bits, leaning over the prince. "Dead unconscious in a cave."

Arthur's brow creased, then relaxed. "The cave. I followed Merlin. Tried to stop him."

"You stopped yourself," Lancelot chastised.

Arthur rubbed at his forehead. "Hungry."

"Just working on that," Lancelot said, punching Arthur lightly on the shoulder. He retreated. Morgana kissed Arthur's forehead, then did the same. There was something hesitant in her gesture, but he was too exhausted to worry about it.

Merlin sat next to Arthur, legs drawn into his chest.

"Your father?"

Merlin spoke into his knees. "He let me go."

"He didn't seem willing to. What happened?"

Merlin blinked and Arthur thought it looked he might cry. "Proved myself."

"He thought you brave enough to go back to Camelot?"

"Something like that."

"You should be glad to get away from him." Arthur started at the unshed tears that brimmed in Merlin's eyes. "Merlin, I didn't mean that."

"He's not a bad person. He let me go, too, because I wanted to go."

Arthur went silent as he tried to think. Merlin and his father had helped him after the attack, then this whole Merlin in the cave thing. And the cave, something calling.

"Arthur?"

"The cave."

"What about it?"

"I saw something...my mother." He glanced up at Merlin who looked decidedly uneasy. "What was that place?"

"Just a cave."

Arthur grasped his wrist. "Tell me the truth."

Merlin stared at him warily. "You won't like it."

"Magic," Arthur rumbled.

Merlin nodded.

"Why would your father do that to you?"

"He didn't make me. I wanted to go."

"You just waltzed into a cave full of magic?"

"It shows you who you really are."

"How is that possible?" Arthur muttered.

Merlin shrugged. "It's magic."

"What did it show you?"

Merlin stiffened for a moment. "Me and Will in Ealdor playing."

"But you weren't in Ealdor."

"I think I saw the past."

Arthur balled his fists. He'd seen his mother and father and... Arthur's heart stopped. "It lied."

"Hm?" Merlin questioned, seemingly trying to avoid his gaze.

"Magic." Arthur's eyes were hard.

"I don't think so," Merlin disagreed quietly. "What I saw with Will, it really happened. I remember it. Running and playing at our tree. Will scraped his leg that day and I had to drag him home."

Arthur lay back, wide eyes staring at a darkening sky.

"Arthur, what did you see about your mother?"

"I'm tired. Leave me, Merlin." He rolled over and closed his eyes as Merlin's footfalls retreated.

* * *

 _Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!_ Merlin chastised himself as he left Arthur alone. He should have agreed that the cave lied. What Arthur would think of magic now! Showing him his mother bleeding to death!

Merlin settled next to the fire Lancelot had just ignited. Morgana leaned over a pot preparing a meal. His eyes drifted to her, recalling Kilgharrah's warning. He pondered as he watched her. Certainly, she could be dangerous when provoked; she excelled in swordplay. But her seeing? Her dreams had vanished months ago.

Morgana turned and catching his eyes on her, smiled. She moved over to him and sat down, folding an arm around his shoulders. She glanced at Arthur, then back to him. "He'll be all right. He just needs rest."

Merlin nodded absently.

"Don't feel bad."

Merlin looked up at her.

"That he got hurt looking for you. Or the knights."

He raised an eyebrow and she smiled gently.

"I know your heart, Merlin, and none of this is your fault." She pulled back to the meal preparation.

Merlin ran a hand through his hair. Morgana had a heart of gold. Seeing or not, he didn't think she could ever be a danger to anyone in Camelot except its enemies.

* * *

As Lancelot stoked the fire, he contemplated Morgana sitting next to Merlin, encouraging him with kind whispered words. He shook his head, paying attention to the fire, and bit down on his tongue. He wanted to stand up and shout, "Both of you have magic! Talk to each other. Help each other. Stop being so afraid!" But he couldn't, not the least because Arthur was just across the way and who knows how he would react to such a revelation. But more than that, he had vowed to each of them he wouldn't reveal their secrets. And although Merlin knew Morgana had ability to see, he was under the impression visions had ceased to torment her. And Morgana hadn't a hint about Merlin.

Lancelot rocked back on his heels, toying with a stick in his hands. Sometimes it was hard following the the knights' code he'd lived by even before he was a knight. His father had spoken the code, but his actions failed it in every way. Lancelot had determined that would never be the case for him. He would prove its value in deed as well as word. He had to keep the truth to himself for the sake of his own character as well as the love of his friends.

* * *

Morning came too early for Arthur. He had eaten in silence the night before and only spoken when addressed. He could tell it worried those around him, especially Merlin. When he'd woken, he'd discovered the boy curled up next to him, one hand splayed out as if meaning to comfort him.

He helped clean up the camp to protests. His side ached, but he swore he was well enough to help out, especially after two good meals and a night's rest. But it hadn't really been restful. As he rode behind Lancelot towards home, his mind whirled with what he'd seen in the cave.

For the first time, he'd seen his mother in the flesh. Merlin said the cave hadn't lied. Couldn't it? Wasn't magic faulty? Deceitful? But he couldn't reconcile that assumption with an inanimate object like a cave. It wasn't like a person who sought to harm him; it was just a place apparently imbued with magic. Of course he'd read of such places, he just hadn't thought they really existed.

He replayed the vision in his mind: His father happy and joyful. His mother well and alive and with child. With him. But then, the pain and the screams and the blood. And Nimueh. He recognized her now. The sorceress who had tried to kill him as an infant and as an adult. His father had saved him. He'd been told that all his life. That was true. But his father had also said the sorceress killed his mother. _I killed my mother._

Arthur swallowed the digested breakfast threatening to gag his throat. He heard the shouting, his father arguing with Nimueh about a spell. About how a life created meant a life taken. _Magic has given you a son_ , the witch had said. _The price was paid._

"Arthur?"

Arthur realized he had squeezed Lancelot tightly. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Are you all right? Do you want to stop?"

"No. I want to go home."

Lancelot nodded. Arthur was glad his friend hadn't turned around to see the wrath in his expression. He needed to get home, to force the truth once and for all.

* * *

The Citadel courtyard admitted a bedraggled band of four, but none seemed glad to arrive. Leon waved a greeting, but none returned it. He took the reins of their horses. He understood. He supposed he didn't have to say anything, but duty demanded his voice.

"The king isn't pleased."

Lancelot nodded succinctly. He had known when he chose to go with Morgana this had been a possibility. The king wouldn't take kindly to his knight putting her in harm's way.

Arthur tried to cover his anger. He didn't care if his father was pleased or not.

Morgana rushed to Gwen who was racing down the stairs. She threw herself into the girl's arms and received a comforting embrace and a hand through her hair. "My lady. I was so worried."

"Gwen. I can't face him right now."

"He told me to tell him when you returned."

"Tell him, but draw me a bath."

Gwen curtsied. Morgana fled into the castle. Lancelot resisted the urge to follow her. Gwen ran to Merlin, past Leon who had placed a hand on his shoulder and welcomed him back already. She held him and he felt tears leak onto his shirt. "I told you to stop doing things like this!"

Merlin smiled when she pulled back and wiped at her tears. "I keep trying not to."

Gwen's eyes sought Arthur and her brow crinkled quizzically. He nodded to her, but looked away with haunted eyes. She noted his shirt. "You were hurt?"

"An attack by bandits."

"To Gaius then," Leon intuited.

Usually, Arthur would have protested, but this time he let himself be led, wanting to see the physician before he caught sight of his father. Merlin followed along.

Lancelot climbed the stairs with Gwen and strode down the hall to the council chambers. He caught her elbow before she opened the door. "Treat her gently. She had a difficult time."

Gwen laid a sympathetic hand on his arm and smiled at him. She opened the door. Lancelot paralleled her. The king looked up in the middle of speaking. Lancelot anticipated the flash of anger.

"I see they have returned."

"Yes, sire," Gwen replied.

"Morgana?"

"She is tired. She goes to make herself presentable."

Uther ground his jaw. He eyed the council members. "Our business is concluded." They took the hint and were out the door in seconds. Uther looked to Gwen. "You may go. _You_ ," his gaze fell on Lancelot, "will stay."

Lancelot heard the door shut behind him. He paced farther into the room, hands behind his back, standing tall in respect. "Sire," he bowed.

"She is unharmed?"

"She is." _Not truly. She saw you dead, sire. She's terrified._

"And did you find the boy?"

"We found the boy and Prince Arthur."

"Where is he?"

Lancelot didn't have to ask which one he meant. "Prince Arthur is being seen by Gaius. He was wounded in an attack."

Fear crossed Uther's face. "The boy's father?"

"The prince is well because of the boy's father. He was not the cause."

"Who then?"

"The bandits Arthur sought. He alone survived their attack."

Uther continued to scowl. "The boy's father is in the dungeon?"

Lancelot shook his head. "I did not arrest him."

"And why not? He drugged my knights!"

"He did so to take his child without a fight. He aided Arthur. He let Merlin return. I had no reason to bring him here."

"No reason," Uther spat out. "His action was a crime against the crown!"

Lancelot thought it best not to reply.

Uther gripped a white knuckled hand on the back of his chair. "You are _my_ knight. You swore fealty to _me_."

"No, sire."

Uther guffawed.

"I swore fealty to the knights' code."

"And the crown!"

"But which one, sire?"

Uther stared in puzzlement.

Lancelot had made a decision on the way home: he could no longer support the king in front of him, this king who despised magic and slaughtered its practitioners. Some day he'd be called to use his sword against an innocent and he could only fear it might be Merlin or Morgana. He had been wrong to choose the official life of a knight before it was time.

"You know, sire, that your son saved my life. I would have perished but for him. It was for him that I submitted to the crown. _His_ crown."

Uther glared.

Lancelot withdrew his sword. He unhooked his red cape. He laid both at the end of the long table. "I have disregarded you, my lord. I have endangered your ward. I take full responsibility."

Uther's hand shook in anger as he pointed at his former knight. "It is for the sake of your father I do not have you publicly flogged for this disloyalty."

"My father?" Lancelot questioned, his tone taut. "You would beat me as he did?"

Uther's face darkened farther.

"Whatever you might do could not be worse than what you allowed him to do already."

"Get out," Uther growled. "You are stripped of your knighthood from this day forward. If you step foot in this citadel again, it will be on pain of death."

Lancelot bowed stiffly, then marched to the doors and out.

* * *

Gaius had embraced Merlin, going on and on about how much he missed him until he saw Arthur standing there with a tear in his shirt and the hint of a bandage peaking through. Then it was to work, his keen eyes scrutinizing the wound. He declared the job in healing it well done, and smiled subtly when he found out Merlin's father had been the healer.

"Merlin, get cleaned up," Arthur had ordered. The boy left reluctantly, shooting a gaze at Gaius that declared much had happened, and he wanted to stay and ramble on. But he obeyed and left.

Arthur spoke quietly as Gaius cleaned and rewrapped the healing wound. "Gaius, I need to know something, and I want the truth."

"Sire?" The physician's right eyebrow rose as always.

"What really happened the day I was born?"

Gaius turned his attention back to the bandage. "You know, sire."

"I know what my father wants me to believe, but there's more, isn't there?"

"Why do you think so?"

"Merlin and I—we were in this place of...magic. I saw my birth."

Gaius' fingers stilled on the fresh bandage.

"I know you used to practice magic."

"I have renounced it."

"Yes, but you know about it, then. There are magic places, aren't there?"

"Some places are said to be strong in the magic of the world." He finished tying off the bandage and made to move away, but Arthur grasped his shoulder and met his eyes.

"I want to know."

"What did you see?"

"My mother dead because of me." Arthur's eyes glinted with rare tears.

"Not because of you," Gaius assured. He took the young man's hand in his own. "You cannot blame yourself for it."

"Magic," Arthur whispered hoarsely.

"You must understand. Your mother desired a child. Uther wanted to please her. He turned to the only hope left."

Arthur began to pace. "What else?"

"You should ask your father, sire."

"Gaius!"

The physician was rescued from having to reply when a messenger came through the door and handed Arthur a note. Gaius watched his face redden as he read it. He ran out the door without another word.

Footsteps sounded behind Gaius. "Where's Arthur?"

Gaius looked to Merlin. "Tell me everything that happened to you."

* * *

Morgana had slipped gratefully into her bath. She willed away the thought of the man who had cared for her and shown her all his love dead on a dais. Now that she was back, the horror had started to recede. Uther was here and alive. Protected in the citadel. She knew he wouldn't be happy with her. They'd have a discussion, perhaps a row, but she didn't care. She'd argue with him a million times over as long as he lived.

She chatted with Gwen as she bathed, the maid bustling around the room meeting her needs, currently preparing fresh clothing.

"You met Merlin's father."

"Lancelot found them. I was resting."

"He must be a horrible man to take his son like that."

"Lancelot doesn't think so. He actually healed Arthur."

"He did?"

Morgana laughed softly. "I suppose we should have known. Merlin is his son after all."

"But Merlin wouldn't drug anyone."

"His father committed a crime once."

"He did?"

"That's why he was scared to come to Merlin any other way, but I think he must have changed."

"How?"

"You remember Merlin's mother. I don't think she would love an evil man."

"No," Gwen agreed. "You're right. You think she changed him?"

"Love does change men, Gwen. It's their only hope really." Her eyes twinkled and she shared a laugh with the maid.

A tentative knock sounded at the door. Gwen answered it and received a note. She moved back to the bath. "For you."

"Read it to me."

Gwen unrolled the parchment. "'My Love'... Oh. I don't think I should read this. Might be private."

"Go ahead."

"'My Love'," Gwen restarted. "'I should have told you before I made my decision, but I knew you would talk me out of it.'" Gwen paused as Morgana stilled.

"Go on."

"'I knew when I returned to Camelot the king would be angry that I let you leave. He considers me his man, but I have never been, and I can no longer serve him. He has released me and informed me I must not step foot in the citadel again. I will see you, but do not look for me right now. I will be away for some time. My heart is yours always. Lancelot.'" Gwen lowered the note. "I'm sorry."

Morgana leaned on the edge of the bath and buried her head in her arms. Gwen knelt down, holding her close as she cried.

* * *

"What is this?" Arthur shouted. He had tracked his father down in his rooms and flung the note he'd received onto the table.

Uther, in no mood to be treated so by a son he considered errant and rash, snapped back. "Since I did not send it, I cannot divine its contents."

"Lancelot. He says he's left and you've accepted."

Uther snorted. "He made it quite clear he wants nothing to do with serving the crown."

"He's only ever wanted to be a knight."

"He was disloyal!" Uther thundered. "He took Morgana into danger."

"To find Merlin."

"A servant boy," Uther shouted, "is not worth Morgana's life!"

"Merlin isn't worth any less than Morgana."

"This, Arthur!" Uther pointed at him. "This is why the boy will no longer be your concern."

"What do you mean?"

"He has Gaius. He doesn't need you."

" _I_ have been his guardian."

"And that ends today."

"You have no right."

"I have every right! You've risk your life too many times for this servant."

"Merlin..."

"You have a duty, Arthur, to your people. _You_ are my heir, the one who will rule. Your safety is paramount and I will not let it be threatened by this boy any more."

"You will not take Merlin from me." The barely controlled wrath in Arthur's tone caused Uther to pause briefly.

"Why? What hold does he have on you?"

"What hold? His loyalty. His hard work. His friendship."

"Friendship? Arthur, he's nothing but a lad."

"He's as like to a brother as I'll ever have."

Uther shook his head. "You've spent too much time with him."

Arthur crumpled the note in his hand. "You killed her." His tone was venom.

"What?"

"Your wife."

"Arthur—"

"I know the truth."

Uther's face had blanched and that was all it took for Arthur to fully believe. His next words were spoken in deadly calm.

"You used magic. You had Nimueh do something."

Uther sank into a chair.

"She tried to kill me, but only after my mother died."

"Arthur," Uther spoke weakly, already pleading.

"She bled to death because I had to be born. You killed her by making _me_ kill her!" Arthur's voice choked, a sob ushered forth.

"I didn't know, Arthur. She said someone would die. I thought an enemy, surely."

"So it's all true."

"How did you..."

"How did I find out? It doesn't matter. You took her from me." Arthur shoved a finger in his face. "So don't you dare take Merlin." He turned on his heel and left a trembling Uther behind.

* * *

Gaius rubbed at his chin after Merlin had told what happened. "Arthur questioned me about his birth."

"What do you think he'll do?" Merlin asked.

"I'm not sure. But you, Merlin. The Crystal Cave. It proves your nature."

"But you already said I was Emrys."

"I didn't need the proof, but it's nice to have." Gaius smiled kindly. "And now you also know you're a dragonlord."

"Why didn't you tell me that?"

"To protect you as always."

"Because Uther wanted to kill my father."

"And if he knew your lineage, that a dragonlord was here in Camelot..."

Merlin sighed. "Gaius?"

"Hm?"

"Why me?"

"Why are you Emrys?"

Merlin nodded. "I'm a sorcerer _and_ a dragonlord. Uther hates magic and my father and dragons. How can _I_ hope to accomplish anything here?"

"It's Arthur you should concern yourself with, not Uther."

"But Arthur hates magic, too."

"He hates because he has been taught to. You, Merlin, are all that is good about magic, and you mean so much to him. It is through you that he will see magic's good." Gaius patted his knee. "I used to wonder why you, too."

Merlin tilted his head.

Gaius smiled. "Not because you were a dragonlord or Balinor's son. Because you were a boy. Why burden one so young with the weight of Emrys? I think, Merlin, you are Emrys precisely because you _are_ a boy. You did not experience the Purge. It has not marred your soul as it has Balinor or the bandit that attacked Arthur or Nimueh or even me. In your innocence, you see clearer than any of us and give Arthur Pendragon the chance to make it right."

"How?"

"In time, you will know. Have patience."

Lancelot had advised the same thing: _Be patient with him._ Merlin rose from his seat and sauntered back up the steps to his room. He grinned when he opened his door to find his prodigal kestrel nestled in his bed. He sat down and stroked the soft feathers. "Back, eh?"

Nero pecked at his pocket and Merlin reached in to retrieved the hidden treat. As the kestrel ate, he lay back, settling into his familiar mattress. For a time, destiny sank into oblivion.

* * *

When Merlin arrived at Arthur's door, he knocked gently. He hadn't meant to sleep and neglect Arthur. He wasn't the only servant to the prince, and if Arthur needed anything, he would have commanded it, but no one else knew the vision that tormented him.

"Come in."

Merlin pushed the door open. Arthur sat before the unlit fireplace, staring blankly into nothing. He was still barechested and streaked in dirt. "Arthur! Didn't anyone help you?"

"I sent them away," Arthur spoke absentmindedly.

Merlin moved to the wardrobe. "Let me find something for you to wear."

"Leave it, Merlin."

"But you're a mess!"

Arthur sent him a look that proclaimed "What of it?"

"Here." Merlin moved to the wash basin and poured some water. "Just wash at least." He knelt down on the bear rug, dipped the sponge in water, and went to work on Arthur's back.

"I can do it," Arthur said, but without insistence or a move to take over.

"It's okay." Merlin continued, recalling the day Arthur had rescued him from Baudemagus' rod and dabbed his stinging back with a cloth. "I think I owe you. You came after me. _Again_."

Merlin moved to Arthur's arms, then chest, wiping around the bandage. Finally, Arthur reached over and took the sponge, cleansing his face. He lowered it.

"Feel better?" Merlin asked, though his heart rent. The prince didn't look good at all and he could guess why.

"I saw my mother in the cave."

"Yeah?"

"She gave birth to me and died."

"I'm...sorry."

"My father killed her."

"Eh..."

"I knew he employed sorcerers before the Purge, but to bring me to life..."

"Arthur, you can't know that. Maybe the cave...maybe what you saw wasn't true."

"I confronted him. He admitted it."

Merlin didn't answer, uncertain what to say if Uther had confirmed the truth.

"A price paid," Arthur murmured. "He had a sorceress cast a spell or enchantment, or I don't know, but whatever it was it required a life and it took my mother."

"But it made you," Merlin whispered.

Arthur turned his pained gaze to him.

"You wouldn't be here if it hadn't been done."

"I _shouldn't_ be here."

"No, Arthur!" Merlin spoke vehemently. "It doesn't matter _how_ it happened."

"No? He used _magic_. I'm a product of the very thing he hates most!"

"He loves you, Arthur."

Arthur looked away

"She loved you. They both did. They wanted you." Merlin's eyes began to tear up. "Didn't...didn't Uther get hurt saving you?"

Arthur's tone softened. "That part was true."

"He wouldn't have done that if you didn't matter to him."

Arthur bowed his head into his hands, elbows propped on his knees. "I don't know what to think. He deceived me, Merlin. Hid the truth. How can I ever trust him again?"

Merlin swallowed hard. _Like I deceive you._ But he pushed the thought away. He'd promised Arthur he'd get him through this. Now wasn't the time to wallow in pity over hidden magic. "My father left us."

Arthur looked up at the unexpected statement.

"He left us to fend for ourselves, but now that I met him, I think...I forgive him. He was only trying to do what he thought was right."

"And if what he'd thought was right killed your mother?"

"It would be...harder."

"But not impossible?"

"I don't think forgiveness should be impossible." _Some day I'll need it from you._

A slight smile graced Arthur's face. "Good old idealistic Merlin."

Merlin bowed his head.

"I need you." Arthur's whisper was so low, Merlin barely heard it.

Merlin looked up. "Me?"

"If you weren't here, I might have decided to kill him."

Merlin laughed, then abruptly stopped when Arthur didn't join in. "You mean that?"

"I thought of challenging him."

"Arthur..."

"I won't. Not now. Thank you, Merlin. It's that strange wisdom you have. Where it comes from is anyone's guess."

Merlin smiled at the dig. "My father?"

Arthur chuckled. "I don't think so."

"My mother?"

"Who knows? But I like it. Don't ever change, Merlin."

Merlin smiled, but it was tempered with truth. Some day Arthur would know who he really was and that would change everything, but the prince had had enough of a shock. It wasn't time to add another. Not yet.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thus ends Year 2! Next chapter begins Year 3. I have three story arcs planned for Year 3 and I am so excited about the first. We'll be introduced to some new, but familiar favorites from the series :-) Thanks again for reading, reviewing, and dialoguing with me! Oh, someone asked about Merlin's current age: 14.


	45. Three on a Match

**Year 3**

Merlin kept his eye on the door to the kitchens. The lunch hour was close and servants had scurried away laden with meals for their various masters. The chaos having briefly lifted, the cook stepped out the backdoor for a breath of fresh air, leaving him alone. Merlin's eyes glimmered gold as the food prepared for Arthur floated midair and cloth from the basket he carried tucked around the dancing pieces. They settled into his basket, and his golden eyes darted around the room once more, sneaking extras and adding them to his stash. The door creaked. His eyes faded blue and he leaped outside the backdoor.

"You being good?" Audrey asked. She was leaning against the wall, a passel of herbs in one hand.

"Aren't I always?" he returned incredulously.

Audrey grunted. "Last week several of my pastries disappeared."

"Oh did they?"

Audrey glared at him.

"It wasn't me."

"If you're hungry, ask."

"I'm always hungry."

Audrey laughed. "With the way you scarf down, you should be thirty pounds heavier by now." She ran her eyes over his lanky form.

"I can't help that. Arthur's always having me do chores or train or I'm getting sent all over on errands for Gaius."

"What did you take?"

"Huh?"

"What's in the basket?"

"Prince's lunch."

"In a basket?"

"He wants to ride out for a little."

Audrey's eyes gleamed. "Alone?"

"I'm going." Merlin bit his lip.

Audrey shook her head. "I've been here since before you were born, and I've learned to see a thing or two. And I've kept my mouth shut, too. Next time, don't lie to me." Her eyebrows were raised and Merlin nodded sheepishly. "Now, get, runt, before I catch you and turn you over to the steward."

Merlin smiled and bolted from the garden yard. He'd never been in the hands of the castle steward, but he well knew the man sometimes punished errant servants, usually with some kind of pain involved. But he also knew Audrey would never really set the steward on him. Besides, Arthur would have the man's head if he ever lay a finger on him. Then again, Arthur would be furious if he knew someone else had figured what was up. Merlin decided to keep that knowledge to himself. Good old Audrey wouldn't tell a soul.

He made his way to the stables and found his horse, Lebryt. He'd already saddled him earlier. He attached the basket to the side and mounted, riding out. To anyone else it would like he was on a normal mission for Gaius. Actually, he did have instructions from Gaius, but with clear understanding Gaius' task came second to Arthur's.

Merlin trotted his way through the forest. He easily found who he was looking for, sending his sight out and grinning when he caught Arthur pacing in agitation next to a stream. When he got close enough, the prince lifted his head in cautious alarm, but seeing it just him, relaxed again. He unhooked the basket as Merlin dismounted.

Arthur picked through the basket, then looked up with a satisfied smile. "How you always manage this with no one the wiser is beyond me."

"I have my ways."

Arthur laughed and went to ruffle his hair. Merlin ducked away.

"Uh-uh," Arthur chastised.

"Arthur, really, I'm fourteen."

"Hardly a man, Merlin."

"I feel silly when you do that."

"It's only..."

"Playful comradeship. I know."

"Is this because of the ones in town that tease you?"

"No."

"It is."

"It isn't."

"Merlin, stand up to them for once."

Merlin kicked at the dirt with the toe of his right boot.

"You're more than capable."

Oh, he knew that. He could knock down any bully with simply a thought, but the last time he'd hit someone he'd ended up beaten. And he could deal with verbal teasing.

Arthur looked away, giving up the argument they'd already had twice before. "And anyway, no one's here, so..." He dropped the basket and Merlin had only seconds to take off running. Without his magic, he was no match for the prince. Arthur had him down in moments, his neck tucked in an arm and the top of his head assaulted by vicious rubbing knuckles.

"Arthur! Get off!"

"Make me."

"Arthur!"

"Come on! Use the skills I've taught you."

Merlin struggled, then in honed anger let the lessons take over. He twisted in Arthur's grip, kneed him in the chest, and when Arthur gasped and closed his eyes, used a hint of magic to push at the prince's arm and break the hold. He scooted backwards and scowled.

Arthur only grinned and nodded. "Well done. You're getting better at defending yourself. Now take those ones down a peg." He waved his hand towards the town.

Merlin groaned. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"They've never hurt me."

"The first time someone insulted my father to my face, I punched him in the gut."

Merlin looked warily at the prince. "Did you get in trouble?"

"Father talked my ear off, then said, 'Good work.'"

Merlin picked a blade of grass and laced it in and out of his long fingers. "A knight defends the helpless. He takes up arms to aid the distressed. His blade is used carefully, skillfully. He must be judicious, knowing when to fight and when to yield. And never must he wield himself to another's harm without a direct threat."

Arthur sighed. "You've been reading up on the code."

"It wouldn't be right to hurt them," Merlin whispered.

"You hit Meleagant."

"And you yelled at me."

"He was noble. These are ruddy, uncouth peasants with nothing better to do. Someone should teach them a lesson in manners."

Merlin ignored Arthur's comment. He knew full well the prince was only saying this stuff because he couldn't stand watching Merlin abused in any way. "Meleagant was hurting someone else, not me."

"And what if they _do_ hurt you?"

"They've only used words so far."

"Words can hurt."

Merlin shrugged.

"Merlin..."

"You said you'd stay out of it."

Arthur let out a long breath. "I know."

"And besides, I really don't need the king to think I'm causing any more trouble." That was the root of it really. If it had been just him in Ealdor, he and Will might have done something about kids picking on him, but he had Arthur to think of and if he got caught fighting it would be another reason for Uther to conflict with Arthur about him.

For the past four months, Arthur's relationship with the king had been strained. Merlin guessed most of it had to do with Arthur knowing the real circumstances of his birth. They hadn't talked about it again, but ever since Arthur learned it, Merlin had caught him staring into nothing at times, brow creased, eyes sorrowful. He spoke to his father curtly and only about business. The king had made no motion to repair the gap.

And then a month ago Merlin had walked into an argument between them. They'd been shouting about how Merlin had upset a visiting lord when he was overheard describing the man's wife as "a rotund melon." Arthur defended his accuracy and wit, but the king had threatened that if the servant boy was ever in any trouble again, the king would personally see to his punishment. Arthur had shouted back that if he ever laid a hand on Merlin, he'd run his father through.

Merlin had fled without being sighted. He'd hid under a stair, working to breath through adrenaline and promising himself he would never, ever give Uther the chance to take issue with him.

Now, Arthur eyed him suspiciously. Merlin knew he suspected his servant had heard something about the argument, whether on his own or through the grapevine. "I suppose what I'm doing now is dangerous enough." The prince smiled, and his expression both encouraged and relaxed Merlin.

"There you two are." Both Arthur and Merlin turned to their left and stood. Gwen laughed. "Have you been wrestling again?"

Merlin glanced down and noted the dirt rubbed into his trousers. He wiped at them. Gwen gestured to his hair and he pulled several leaves from tousled strands.

"Practicing defense," Arthur explained, his cheeks tinged pink.

Gwen nodded. "Ah."

"My lady." Arthur bowed.

"Arthur." She blushed. Every time he called her that she protested, but she took his offered hand and he brought the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it. Merlin backed away, grinning.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked without looking at him.

"Yes, Arthur?"

"No need to stay this time."

"Are you sure?"

Arthur looked up with an expression that brooked no argument.

"Of course, sire." He bowed.

Arthur rolled his eyes, and turned his attention to Gwen.

* * *

Merlin smiled all the way back to the stables. The tension between Uther and Arthur might have worried him, but it had resulted in some good—Arthur had gotten more rebellious. He hadn't said as much to Merlin, but he acted like he didn't believe his father was as right as he had before. He spoke up more in council meetings when he didn't agree with a proposed law or course of action. He responded to people's grievances by accompanying them to their homes or farms or places of work to view matters for himself rather than be content to hear a report given before the throne like Uther. And although he kept Gwen his own secret still, he took greater risk seeing her in a more intimate place where they could sit close together and share their deepest thoughts.

Merlin dropped his horse off, leaving him with a stable hand. He hadn't been ordered to muck out the stables in a long time. That chore had moved from Arthur's regular list to his "things Merlin will do as punishment" list, and then only when absolutely necessary. It had been replaced with more training.

Merlin reached into his pocket as he approached the town. He had a medicine to pass on to the owner of The Rising Sun. He paused when he reached the tavern door. Arthur had found out about the verbal abuse when he heard it one day Merlin returned to the courtyard, a gaggle of boys hooting insults at him back in the lane. They'd had their first row over it and Merlin had refused to name any of them, least of all the ring leader. Now he was about to enter that boy's territory, but with any luck, the tavern owner's son would be out. He prepared himself. He'd be quick. Up to the counter, hand over the medicine, and out. He pushed open the door.

For the middle of the day, the tavern was more full than usual. It wasn't a very large place, anyway. He made it to the counter, but the owner wasn't present. His assistant, Timon, looked up from a dripping barrel.

"I've got something for Albin." He placed the vial on the counter.

Timon nodded.

"Gaius has instructions I need to tell him."

"Wait. He'll be back soon."

Merlin felt trepidation grow. He nervously turned around, scanning the patrons. Nob wasn't present. As the tightness in his chest eased, he perceived most everyone was glancing at a table to the far right. He followed their gaze to find three strangers and no wonder they'd drawn attention. One of them was as close to a giant as he'd ever seen. A sleeveless shirt exposed beefy arms, though his appearance belied his expression when he smiled at one of his companions and laughed. Another man to his right reminded Merlin of Gwen. This one was younger, he guessed only two or three years older than the maid. He nodded and smiled, but didn't laugh. Merlin thought he looked altogether nervous. The last occupant had his back to him, but his hair was long and shaggy, passing his ears. As he watched, the man tossed back his locks and rose, moving towards the counter. Merlin looked away, not wanting to be rude, but he'd thought this man must be near Arthur's age. The man stopped at his side and plunked an empty tankard onto the counter.

"Been waiting too long," he whined with a pout.

Timon narrowed his eyes, but moved to refill the tankard.

"Aren't you a little young to hang around here?"

It took Merlin a moment to realize the man meant him. He glanced over. "I'm making a delivery."

"Ah. Errand boy."

"Kind of."

"Not a very lucrative career."

Merlin smiled smugly.

"What?" the man asked as took a long sip from the freshly restored tankard.

"I work for the prince."

The man laughed. "So, employed by riffraff."

Merlin was taken aback. He'd never heard Arthur ever insulted so. "He's...not," Merlin stammered, then spoke more forcefully. "He's good and honorable and just." He was going to end there until the man responded by laughing loudly, so he added quickly and angrily, "And more a man than you'll ever be."

For a split second Merlin regretted saying something that might cause a scene, but the man snickered even more. He gulped his drink, then nudged Merlin in the arm with his elbow. "Princes are royal, sanctimonious, supercilious prats that deserve to have their asses kicked and especially your _Prince Arthur_." He said the last bit with a sarcastic and spiteful air.

Merlin's recent conversation with Arthur came back into his head in an instant: _The first time someone insulted my father to my face, I punched him in the gut._ Without thinking, Merlin socked the man right in the stomach.

Mead spewed everywhere from the man's mouth and Merlin, shocked at his own visceral reaction, turned to hightail it away when a large hand clamped on the back of his neck. He couldn't move his head to see who had nabbed him, but a serious voice queried, "Need help?"

The man leaned an arm on the counter, waved a hand, and forced a grin. "Take him to our table. He needs a little lesson in the world."

Merlin struggled, but he was no match for the giant who hauled him to the table the men were sharing and plunked him in a seat, holding him down by his shoulders. The man reminiscent of Gwen raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn't seem to care. Merlin tried to sink as low as he could in the chair, but the giant's hand forced him back up. He was trying to think of a way to use magic to get out of whatever predicament he'd gotten himself into when a tankard of mead was placed in front of him, and the man from the counter turned his chair around and sat in it backwards, arms propped along the top as he swigged from his own. He pointed at the mead in front of Merlin. "Anyone who can punch like that is a man."

The big hand left Merlin's neck and the muscular giant sat down to his right, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

"What happened over there?" the youngest asked.

"Insulted the prince of the land," the shaggy haired man replied. "But this one," he tilted his tankard towards Merlin, "set me straight. We're in the presence of him who serves a good, honorable, just man."

"He is!" Merlin insisted, not lifting a finger towards the mead.

The young man snorted derisively.

"You don't know him," Merlin snapped.

"I know his father," the young man ground out. "And others just like him." He pulled up his left sleeve, and Merlin gawked to see a long deep scar running from wrist to shoulder and then another when he pulled up the right sleeve. "Would have been left to drain dry if these boys hadn't come for me."

The giant turned his head, pushing up short hairs with a hand to reveal a large darkened patch. "Almost died. My entire family killed in a raid."

Merlin swallowed hard. He turned his eyes to the man from the counter, figuring he was next. The man looked away and spoke quickly. "Raped my mother."

Merlin whispered. "Are...you..." He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"The product of it?" The man jerked his eyes back to him, all laughter gone. "Yep." The smile returned, but wickedly twisted. "And she groveled after him till the day his goons beat her to death."

Merlin's voice came out weak as a mouse. "Arthur's not like that."

"All royals are like that," the shaggy haired man argued.

"He's like that," the youngest affirmed, his voice hard. "He's as violent and unjust as his father."

"You're wrong." Merlin felt his blood beginning to boil again. He stood. "He's been nothing but good to me. You can't judge a man you don't know."

"Don't have to know him," the long haired man mumbled.

"Well maybe you should _try_." Merlin stomped away.

"He'd never give us a second glance!" the man shouted behind him, then laughed. "You forgot your drink! If you leave, I get it!"

Merlin didn't answer.

* * *

Merlin had almost made it to the end of the town when he heard footsteps running behind him. He didn't give them much notice, stewing still over his encounter in the tavern...until he was shoved in the back and pitched over, sprawled out in the dust. It was a testament to Arthur's training that he rolled to his back immediately, arms up to defend himself, but his attacker had brought a friends.

"Da's in a right fury over what you did back there."

Merlin struggled against the other two boys who had pinned his shoulders and legs down. "Let me up!" he shouted at the tavern owner's son, a broad shouldered boy three years his senior who wore a constant sneer. He had seen the results of Nob's physical abuse on other hapless souls and had no wish to experience it himself.

"Timon says you hit a patron."

"He insulted Arthur!"

Nob chuckled. "The prince's pet, lolling at his side like a trained dog. You fetch his kills in the hunt? Whine on the rug in his room? Lick his hands after he eats?"

"Shut up!"

Nob balled his hand into a fist. "Da said someone should teach you respect." He glanced at his friends. "I think it's about time."

An intense desire to let his magic smack the three boys so hard they'd break their necks raged in Merlin's heart, but self preservation had cemented itself over his years and he simply closed his eyes before pain exploded on the left side of his head. He was slapped around the head some more, then kicked by several feet at once. His head swam and he was too air starved from a kick in the stomach to pay much attention when a muted voice cried out, "Stop!"

He heard shuffling feet, but kept his eyes tightly shut, fighting the urge to retch. Several footfalls pounded away. A pair of hands grasped his shoulders and another turned his head left and right. "By the gods, boy, you know how to make friends."

Merlin cracked an eye and even that small movement hurt. The long haired man peered at him, smiling within the scruffy growth clinging to his cheeks and chin.

"You think he's seriously hurt?" Merlin recognized the giant's voice.

The long haired man shrugged. "We've dealt with worse."

"Let's get him to my father." The youngest one this time.

"Are you sure you want to do that now?" Long haired man.

"It's the best I've got here."

"But he works for the prince. We could try the castle?"

"And you think it will matter to anyone that he's like this?"

"Well, broken servants don't serve as well."

"Gwaine!"

"Fine. Your father's house. He'll love this, won't he?"

The young man didn't reply and Merlin found himself being lifted by solid arms and staring up at the stony face of the giant.


	46. Of Kings and Servants

Merlin wanted to insist he could walk. He wasn't _that_ hurt, but he found something felt safe about the giant's arms. He relaxed his head against the man's shoulder and was jiggled a little when the man checked if he was still conscious. He'd closed his eyes when they reached a door that was creaked open and he was laid on a straw mattress.

"No one's here," the younger man's voice declared with mild relief. "Though he could be in the forge."

Forge? Merlin opened his eyes, surprised to find himself in Gwen's home. The long haired man called Gwaine suddenly filled his vision, peering intently into his right eye and then his left. He put his hand on Merlin's head and Merlin tried to push away.

"Hold still," Gwaine ordered. "You ever been beaten like that?"

"Not _exactly_ like that," Merlin confessed.

Gwaine smiled. "So this is a regular occurrence."

Merlin shook his head.

"A good punch to the head can make you tired and disoriented," Gwaine warned.

The giant returned, kneeling down and running a wet cloth over Merlin's face. Merlin winced and pulled back.

"Let Percival help," Gwaine said.

"Hurts."

"Of course it hurts." Gwaine had pulled up Merlin's shirt and was prodding around his stomach and chest.

Merlin seized up and gasped.

"Your rib could be broken."

"I'm...fine," Merlin bit back.

"Forge's empty, too." The younger man had reappeared. "How is he?"

"He'll live," Gwaine said. "Though he might need a physician. You know one near?"

"Gaius," Merlin breathed out.

"Who?"

"Gaius," the younger man repeated Merlin's request. "Court physician."

"See!" Gwaine proclaimed triumphantly, standing. "I said we should have taken him to the castle."

"There should be someone else around here, though," the younger man insisted.

"I want Gaius," Merlin spoke firmly, then hissed when Percival moved his ministrations to his chest.

"We don't know someone else." Gwaine's hand slapped Merlin's shoulder. "I'll get this Gaius. What's your name?"

"Merlin."

"They won't let you in!" the younger man shouted as Gwaine dashed out the door.

"Probably not." Gwaine grinned.

* * *

Gwen strolled hand in hand with Arthur back towards the citadel. She loved these days and never wanted them to end, but Arthur couldn't stay away long without his absence being noted. They paused at the edge of a field, knowing they would be easily identified from the towers the farther they proceeded. Arthur set down the basket and turned her to face him, taking both her hands in his.

"Guinevere," he spoke softly.

"My lord?" She smiled.

"Please don't call me that."

Gwen smirked. "It's proper."

Arthur squeezed her hands. "I don't want to be your lord."

"It's dangerous to speak this way."

"I don't care." He pulled her closer and leaned down.

Gwen pressed her hands to his chest, keeping him at bay. "Arthur," she whispered. "We can't."

Arthur stopped, his eyes drinking in every inch of her beautiful face.

"Some day, you'll have to marry for the sake of the kingdom."

"And yet you come here every time I ask."

"I can't help myself," she admitted, lowering her gaze.

Arthur tipped her chin and drew her eyes back to his. "Do you know what Merlin told me once? That a king who _loves_ makes the kingdom stronger."

Gwen smiled. That sounded like something Merlin would advocate. Her face fell. "I can't keep risking my heart." Tears appeared in her eyes. "Or yours. Your father..."

"His desires don't matter to me, Gwen." Arthur cupped her cheeks.

"Arthur..."

"Shhhh." He leaned in and Gwen closed her eyes. For the first time, he kissed her, gently, softly, tenderly. He drew back, pleased at the shy heat in her cheeks. "I love _you_. You at my side will make me strong."

Gwen embraced him tightly. He wrapped her in his arms, resting his chin on her head for a moment. "I love you, Arthur," she whispered. "And we have to go."

He drew back, smiling at her pragmatism. He picked up the basket and gestured for her to proceed. She left ahead of him, feeling his admiring eyes on her back. He would head back to the castle another way.

Gwen moved off toward the village, her mind occupied with the man she loved. When she was alone with him in the woods, loving him and being loved in return seemed so simple. But the moment they headed back to life and duty, the weight of their choices burdened her. Never would Uther accept her as a marriageable partner for his son. As she reached the village, she began reprimanding, telling herself this had to be the last time she met with Arthur as she always did. By the time she passed the apothecary's, she'd vow not to cause problems in the kingdom and swear off Arthur's affections. And then she'd hesitate outside the door to her home and know that every vow she'd sworn would fail the next time Arthur smiled in her direction.

Gwen paused with her hand on the door handle, drawn out of her thoughts by a voice inside she hadn't heard in three years. She pushed the door open, exclaiming, "Elyan!" She hardly had a moment to take him in before he had rushed to her, gathering her in his arms and swinging her around.

"Gwen!" he shouted in delight.

She held him, not wanting to let go, afraid if she did he'd disappear. Tears leaked down her cheeks, and she felt Elyan's hand circling against her back, just like it always had when he'd comforted her. "I'm sorry I didn't come back sooner."

"I've missed you," Gwen mumbled into his shirt.

"I thought of you every day."

Gwen managed to lift her head and stare into his precious visage. "Have you seen father?"

"Not yet."

"He missed you, too."

Elyan stared at her without expression.

"He did."

Elyan pulled away and turned to matters at hand. "We found a boy."

Gwen followed his eyes to her bed and gasped. "Merlin!" She rushed to the boy's side, hardly paying attention to the large man perched on a stool next to the bed.

"Gwen," Merlin greeted with a wan smile.

"What happened?"

"Some lads were beating him," the large man next to her explained.

Gwen's brow furrowed angrily. "Nob?"

"Don't tell Arthur," Merlin begged.

"You think he won't notice?" Gwen said as she rested a gentle hand on his forehead.

Elyan had come up to the side of the bed. "If he tries to punish you, he'll have me to answer to."

Gwen looked up in confusion. "Punish him?"

"For fighting," Elyan replied as if this were obvious.

"Arthur wouldn't do that," Gwen argued.

"You call him 'Arthur'?"

"You know I'm a maid in the castle."

"And you're on a first name basis?"

"He's not like King Uther."

Elyan turned away.

"He's not the one who put you in the stocks," Gwen snapped in defense of the man she loved. "You did that to yourself."

Elyan looked back, eyes furious. "For what? Defending the helpless?"

"You attacked a noble without provocation!"

"He deserved it."

"That's _not_ how you handle things like that."

Elyan opened his mouth to reply, but Gwen held up her hands. "I don't want to argue with you. Not now. When you're back." Elyan shut his mouth and nodded. Gwen turned back to Merlin. "We need a physician."

"Gwaine's gone to get Gaius," Elyan said.

"Gwaine?"

"A friend."

* * *

Gwaine had tried the easy way first: inquire at the gate about the physician. He'd fully expected to be rejected. Guards and soldiers seemed to always sense the worst parts of him, and he was sure he didn't appear trustworthy enough to wander freely around a castle. Instead, when he mentioned the boy's name he was promptly escorted to the physician's chambers, and when he explained, the old man dropped whatever he was doing and picked up his medical kit to follow him.

As they crossed the courtyard, Gwaine expressed his surprise. "This Merlin's important, yeah?"

Gaius' eyebrow raised.

"At the gate, his name let me in."

"He serves the prince."

"He mentioned that." Gwaine rubbed at his still aching stomach muscles, then stopped abruptly with a wide grin. "What have we here?" A woman had ridden in just as they approached the front archway, long dark hair pulled back in a tie, red lips, bright green eyes, and dressed smartly in riding pants and a teal blouse. She halted next to them.

"Gaius?" She glanced at Gwaine who beamed and bowed with a flourish of his hand to his chest.

"Merlin, my lady."

"What is it _this_ time?"

"Not an accident."

"What then?"

Gaius sighed. "He was beaten."

Morgana dismounted, anger lighting her features as she handed off her horse's reins to a servant. "Who?"

"I don't know."

"Three boys," Gwaine offered. "I believe once of them was the tavern owner's son."

"Where is he?" Morgana asked.

"Gwen's apparently," Gaius replied.

"I'll come with you." She took up a place next to Gaius, hurrying along with them. Gwaine slowed, pulling back to move to her other side.

"I'm Gwaine." He reached for her hand, but she jerked it away. "I've never seen such beauty fallen to earth. You must be a goddess."

Morgana rolled her eyes. "I suggest you keep your hands and your platitudes to yourself."

"Stubborn one, huh?" Gwaine's mouth fixed in a determined line.

"Do you even know who I am?"

"The lady of my heart."

Morgana stared daggers at him. "I'm the king's ward. If you try anything, he'll have your head."

Gwaine moved back around to Gaius' other side. "A challenge," he murmured.

"You don't want to pursue this one," Gaius whispered back. Gwaine eyed him. "Friendly advice," Gaius assured him.

When they neared Gwen's home, Morgana rushed in first and scanned the room to find Merlin on Gwen's bed. She ran to his side, taking in his state and stroking his raven hair. "My Merlin," she breathed out.

"My lady." Merlin's eyes widened.

"I met Gaius and came with him."

Gwaine sank down next to Percival at the one table in the home and watched as Gaius squeezed past the king's ward. She backed off to let him in and the physician went to work assessing. The scruffy man's lips curled up in a grin. "The boy must be doing something right if he has _her_ affection." Percival followed Gwaine's eyes to the woman who had come in the door.

Elyan's voice whispered across the table. "King's ward. Morgana."

Percival raised his eyebrows at Gwaine. Gwaine shrugged.

"You can't get tangled up with her, Gwaine," Elyan insisted. "It won't help what we're here for."

"But look at her," Gwaine spoke conspiratorially. "She _cares_ about him. A servant boy."

"She can afford to care. She's not the king or the prince."

Gwaine looked back at the beauty.

"Are you hearing me?"

Gwaine turned with an intense stare. "I hear you."

"She's too closely tied to the king to be safe."

"He's right," Percival added his two bits.

Gwaine sighed.

"I think nothing broken," the physician announced, standing. "Bruises, strained muscle. Still, I'd like to get him back to my chambers." Gaius stared at the three men with obvious expectation. Percival started to stand, but Gwaine beat him to it, jumping up.

"I'll take him."

"Gwaine," Elyan hissed.

Gwaine ignored him, moving to the boy and helping him stand, then wrapping an arm under his arms and around his shoulders to support him. He aided the boy to the door and out.

* * *

"My lady?"

Morgana was stalled from leaving after Merlin by Gwen's call. "Yes?"

"Will you need me this afternoon?"

"I can manage on my own."

"My brother. He's returned." Gwen pointed to Elyan who stood and bowed his head.

"Elyan," Morgana greeted with a smile. "Gwen has mentioned you. Welcome back to Camelot."

"Thank you, my lady," Elyan spoke quietly.

Morgana nodded and moved to the door again, but Gwen caught up to her, placing her hand over Morgana's on the door handle to halt her. "It was Nob, and those other boys he calls his friends."

"The ones who beat Merlin?"

Gwen nodded. "Merlin didn't want me to tell Arthur."

Morgana twisted her lips. "He should know."

"He'd _want_ to know."

Morgana drew in a long breath. "Merlin didn't ask me not to tell."

Gwen smiled and Morgana sent a reassuring nod, then left. Gwen shut the door quietly and turned.

"So you still serve her?" Elyan's voice was taut with disapproval.

"I do."

"They use you."

Gwen moved away to the kitchen counter. "Are you hungry?"

"Gwen, they..."

Gwen spun on her heel. "Why did you come back? To torment me?"

Percival abruptly stood and left the house through the forge door.

"Who are they, Elyan?" she gestured after the large man. "These men. What have they tricked you into believing? Thinking you can change the world?"

Elyan's face clouded. "They're friends who've suffered like I have."

"Suffered?" Gwen returned with a small laugh. "You brooded around here, never content. Always wanting things you couldn't have."

"We _should_ have more."

"Why? Who decides that? You?"

"We don't have to live under Uther's boot."

"King Uther has protected us."

"He steps on the backs of the least."

Gwen wrung her hands. "Please don't start this again. Father won't let you stay if you do."

Elyan stepped up to her, taking her shoulders in his hands. "Why do you work in the castle like a slave?"

Gwen laughed softly. "You never understood. Morgana isn't just my lady. We're _friends_. She confides in me. Trusts me."

"And _Arthur_?"

Gwen pursed her lips and glanced down at her feet. "He's not what you think he is."

Elyan shook her lightly, causing her to look up. "You care about him."

Gwen met his dark eyes that echoed hers. "We all do. He's the prince of Camelot, and one day he will be its king."

"Kings," Elyan spat. "Men who live in their towers, waited on, provided for, happy, wealthy, while we toil to make them richer."

"Uther is a fair king."

"He is un..." Elyan was cut off when the door creaked once more. Gwen looked over and Elyan turned. The large man in the door blinked in shock. "Elyan?"

"Father."

"Elyan!"

Tears graced Gwen's cheeks as her father and brother embraced. And for a time, arguments and discontent were forgotten as they joyed in his return.

* * *

Arthur hadn't settled down at his desk long when the door to his rooms slammed open and Morgana appeared. "Don't know how to knock, do you?" he teased, returning his attention to the report in his hand.

"When have I ever," Morgana replied but without playfulness in her tone.

He heard her approach and glanced up, taking in her state of dress. "You went looking again. I thought you gave it up."

"I won't stop."

Arthur sighed and laid down the report. He leaned back in his chair. "He'll come back when he decides to."

"What if he's hurt, Arthur? _Four_ months."

"He's not hurt."

"Why don't you come with me?" Now her tone accused.

"You know I can't. I'm needed here."

"And your friend? What if he needs you?"

Arthur stood, walked around the desk, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. "I'm sorry, Morgana. I'm sorry this hurts so much, but he left of his own free will."

Morgana turned, her ponytail flicking over her shoulder as she paced away. "What if I knew something definite?" she asked without looking at him, hands crossed over her chest. "Would you come then?"

"Do you?"

She shook her head. Arthur approached her, laying a hand on her back. "He'll return."

She bowed her head. "How can you be sure?"

"He left his lute with me." Arthur smiled. Morgana laughed and wiped her eyes as she turned back to her brother in all but blood. "I didn't know you had it."

Arthur nodded. He'd kept Lancelot's lute safely swaddled in a soft cloth and secreted in a drawer since the day he'd left them."It's here for him when he comes for it again, and when he does, you will be the first to know."

Morgana let out a breath, regaining her composure. "I didn't come to talk about Lancelot," she confessed, "but Merlin."

"Merlin?"

"He was attacked."

"What?"

"By some boys."

Arthur's jaw tightened.

"You need to do something."

"Merlin doesn't want me to."

Morgana cocked her head and her eyes narrowed. "He could have died. He's bruised all over. Someone has to stop them."

Arthur's right fist clenched as he brought it to his lips. "He won't even tell me who they are."

"Nob. The Rising Sun's owner's son. Him and the lackeys that follow his lead."

Rage rose in Arthur's eyes. "Where is Merlin?"

"With Gaius."

* * *

When Arthur opened the door to Gaius' chambers, he found a stranger sitting at the physician's table and the physician himself bent over a figure stretched out on a cot. The stranger watched him curiously as he strode across the room to peer at the figure, who saw Arthur and tried to cover himself with a blanket.

"Sire," Gaius greeted.

Arthur whipped the blanket off of Merlin. "Sit up." He tried not to growl, but it came out angry nonetheless.

Merlin complied. Arthur ran an eye over his chest, then circled to his back. Bruises had started to form, dotting both. Arthur came back around, inspecting Merlin's blackening left eye. "Tell me what happened," he demanded, giving the boy a chance to fess up.

Merlin looked away. Before Arthur could command him again, the stranger stood, tossing back the hair that had fallen over one side of his face. "It wasn't his fault."

Arthur looked over at him. "I asked _him_."

"Arthur." Merlin spoke up.

"Who are you?" Arthur continued to stare down the interloper.

"This man informed me Merlin was injured," Gaius explained.

Arthur raised his chin, then lowered it and nodded once. "Thank you." He continued to stare and the man took the hint, waving both his hands.

"I'll just be going then." He glanced around Arthur. "You take care there, Merlin. Don't go around punching anyone else."

As the door opened and shut, Arthur turned on Merlin. "You punched someone?"

"Just...him." Merlin pointed at the door.

" _He_ beat you?"

"No!" Merlin protested.

"Why in the...weren't you telling me not an hour ago you _couldn't_ punch people?"

Merlin leaned over the cot to retrieve the blanket from the floor and secured it around his thin frame, covering his bruises. "He insulted you."

Arthur widened his eyes. "So you hit a man for that?"

Merlin met his gaze. "You said you hit a man who insulted _your_ father."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. "It was a stupid thing to tell you."

"But," Merlin continued, "he didn't really care. And he and his friends stopped..."

"What?"

"This." Merlin gestured to his body hidden under the blanket.

"You're lucky, Merlin," Gaius interjected, "that you were not hurt worse."

Merlin jerked his gaze to the physician with a look that proclaimed he wasn't helping the situation.

Arthur sighed and grasped a stool, dragging it over to sit and meet Merlin's gaze eye level. "Tell me who it was."

"You said you wouldn't do anything."

"You know what's insulting?" Arthur spat out. "Letting anyone treat my servant this way. They made _you_ the insult, Merlin. _Who_ did this?"

The truth was on the tip of Merlin's tongue when Arthur's argument with the king came back to him, the threats and the yelling, and he knew Uther would only view him as the root of trouble again. "Please, Arthur."

"What if they kill you next time?" Arthur grumbled. "Even unintentionally?"

"They've done what they wanted. They won't kill me."

"Merlin..."

"What would you do?" Merlin challenged. "If you'd been attacked, would you want your father to go after them?"

Arthur ground his jaw, glancing at the floor for a moment. "I wouldn't." He looked up and Merlin simply stared back with an expression that declared he was right and the argument was effectively over.

Arthur stood. "Take the rest of the day off...and as long as you need to recover." The prince marched to the door and out.

Gaius slipped down on the stool the prince had vacated. "You should tell Arthur."

Merlin twisted the hem of the blanket in his hands. "I can't."

"He's right. If this happens again, you could sustain a life threatening injury."

Merlin pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, then lowered them to fix Gaius with a scowl. "They wouldn't do this if I could use it."

Gaius eyed him warningly.

"I didn't. I won't. But I could. Do you know how hard it is to just let stuff like this happen? I want to use my magic, Gaius!"

"You must be..."

"Careful," Merlin finished, standing. "Always careful. I am. But without magic, I'm nothing. Just a punching bag and a joke."

Gaius stood. "Merlin, that's not true." He touched the boy's shoulder, but Merlin yanked away and dashed up the steps to his room, shutting the door. Gaius moved to a counter, rubbing at his forehead. He could teach Merlin all the magic he knew. He could watch the warlock grow in skill and knowledge. But he didn't have the power to make him free.

* * *

Merlin fell into his bed, curling up on his side, focusing on the throbbing in various parts of his body. His eyes grew softly golden for a moment and the pain lessened, but enough remained for him to confront the truth: he'd never be anything but weak and helpless without his magic.

He heard a rustle at the window, a flapping, and then felt pricks of claws through the blanket. He rolled over. "Hey." Nero jumped about and then nestled onto his stomach. "You've been gone a while." Merlin let his hand rest on the bird's head and images flowed into his mind. He smiled. He saw his father, touching the bird, nodding and waving. Nero had taken to visiting Kilgharrah quite often and Merlin always anticipated the pictures that came back to him, but his smile faded at the reminder of his time with his father.

Emrys, his father had realized. He was a sorcerer and a warlock. _The_ warlock. And a dragonlord on top of that. Within him was the power to command dragons. But what did it matter? What good were the titles if he couldn't declare them?

Merlin stopped stroking Nero. For Arthur. That's why he didn't, couldn't, ever show it. Not here in Camelot. He had to hide it away to stay with Arthur, to use it for him, even if the prince never knew it.

"For his sake," Merlin muttered. It wasn't much, but the thought was enough to bring him the comfort he needed.

* * *

A cloaked man stalked silently along the lower town's main thoroughfare. Night had deepened. He paused to glance up at the wooden sign swinging in a warm breeze, its lazily painted sun appearing exhausted and filled with one too many pints. He stepped inside the tavern, navigating the boisterous patrons and approaching the counter, keeping his features hidden under his hood.

"What would you have?" the owner asked.

"Your best ale," the man said, a coin clattering on the counter.

Liquid amber seeped from a barrel and a tankard was placed before him. He took a long sip. "It's good."

"Should be. Take pride in my stock."

"And your son?" The man's voice was pitched low so only the owner could hear.

The owner tilted his head. "My son?"

The man pushed his hood back far enough to be recognized.

"Prince Arthur," Albin gasped out. "Sire."

"Your son. I believe he had an altercation with my servant boy." Arthur's tone was neutral and calm.

"Eh, I apologize, my lord," Albin began to grovel.

Arthur held up a hand to cut him off. "He seems to have some fighting skill."

"Erm...Yes. I suppose."

"I have a training session tomorrow. Might I borrow your son? I think my servant could learn a thing or two."

Albin looked surprised and then pleased. "Of course, sire. He'll attend."

"Have him come to the front gate mid-morning. The guards will know to let him in."

"Yes, sire. Thank you, sire."

Arthur smiled and stood, pulling the hood all the way forward again. He moved away, leaving the rest of the drink untouched and unaware of the bronze eyes that scrutinized him from the end of the counter.

"Gwaine," a woman's plaintive voice whined.

The eyes left the prince and turned to the voluptuous blonde leaning into his side. "Let's find a quiet table, my sweet."


	47. First Duel

"Merlin! You're still in your nightclothes!"

Merlin looked up at Arthur from the table he occupied, frozen in the act of crushing herbs with a pestle. The prince had come barreling through Gaius' door and was standing with hands planted on his hips, consternation and disapproval in his expression. "I have the day off," Merlin replied, confused.

"Who told you that?"

"You! Yesterday you said I could take time to recover."

"How do you feel?"

Merlin rolled his shoulders. "Sore."

"But you can walk? Move?"

"Yes, but..."

"Then I change my mind. Up!"

"Arthur!" Merlin protested as the prince grabbed his arm and shoved him towards his bedroom door.

"Get moving." Arthur followed him in, marching to his trunk and yanking out a pair of trousers and a shirt. "Put these on."

Merlin caught the clothing thrown at him and started to dress, grumbling under his breath. "Indecisive prat."

"What did you say?"

"Eh, nothing," Merlin answered as he finished slipping his shirt over his head and began to tie a blue neckerchief retrieved from his desk.

"I suggest you keep your _nothing_ to yourself unless you want to experience what a _real_ punch feels like."

Merlin peeked up to see Arthur scowling at him. "Yes, sire," he agreed repentantly.

Arthur snatched his neckerchief away. "You don't need that."

"But—"

Arthur threw it on his bed and grasped his arm. "Come on." He dragged Merlin to the door, but let go in the hall. Merlin trailed him down the spiral staircase.

"Where are we going?"

"The armory."

Merlin sighed. "Polishing?"

"Not today."

"Boots?"

Arthur chuckled. "I don't need you to do any work."

"Then what?"

"Training."

"Are you serious?"

Arthur gestured for Merlin to walk next to him instead of following like an obedient dog. "Deadly."

"But I still ache."

"And that's why you have to do this today. A knight must fight in whatever state he finds himself in."

"I'm not a knight," Merlin grumbled, as Arthur had often reminded him.

"No. You're my servant." Arthur's eyes twinkled and Merlin didn't like it one bit. Arthur had never been creative: his training had been as straight forward as the knights'. What might the prince have concocted that meant interrupting his recovery?

Arthur pushed open the door when they reached the armory and indicated Merlin should enter first. Merlin did so, but stopped a few feet in. A padded red arming coat, a simple black brigandine, and a sword belt lay neatly arranged on a table. His practice sword had been set on the far end, newly polished.

Arthur passed him, moving to the table and grabbing the arming coat. "Let's get this on."

Merlin tilted his head, but raised his arms. "Why are you doing this?"

"Thought you might need help."

"You never do this."

"Hm," Arthur acknowledged, pulling the coat down his arms. "There's a first time for everything."

Perhaps, but Merlin felt like a fish out of water as Arthur helped him into the brigandine and tightly secured its buckles. _He_ was always the one helping Arthur. It felt entirely strange for the prince to be dressing _him_.

Arthur handed him a helmet. "I've picked one I think fits. Try it."

Merlin obeyed, even more confused. It fit. Arthur retrieved the sword and slipped it into the sheath at his side. The prince stood back, arms crossed over his chest, admiring his work.

"Arthur, are we going to war or something?"

Arthur laughed. "No, but..." He came close to look Merlin in the eye. "You know the knights' code. You've done everything I've asked and more." He placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "Trust your skill. You're ready."

Merlin narrowed his eyes, now fearful. What in the world had Arthur so focused and uncharacteristically sentimental?

Arthur clapped him on the back. "Let's get training, then."

* * *

The beginning was routine. Arthur put the knights through their paces as usual with different weapons and combat scenarios. The only difference was Merlin's inclusion. Their training sessions had been one on one, maybe Lancelot or Gwen included now and then for advice and observation. This was the first time Arthur had pitted him against the knights.

At first, Merlin felt annoyed, his muscles protesting the forced movement, but after a time, he fell into a rhythm, the aches becoming part of the process. He pushed through especially when he caught Arthur's proud smile. He did well, he thought, and in the end, when he sank to a bench and received a cup of water from Arthur's hand, he figured this idea had done him good after all.

As Merlin sucked in the water and rubbed a hand over his sweaty brow, he watched Arthur pace up and down the row of knights on the benches, lecturing as he often did on the knights' code. But the prince also kept glancing at the sun, as if he were waiting for something to appear.

"A knight defends the helpless. He takes up arms to aid the distressed. His blade is used carefully and skillfully. He is judicious, knowing when to fight and when to yield. Never does he wield himself to another's harm without direct threat."

Merlin lowered the cup, raising his eyebrows at hearing the part of the code he'd quoted to Arthur only the day before.

Arthur glanced behind the knights towards the citadel, and his eyes gleamed with excitement and mischief. "A knight doesn't take advantage, doesn't attack without just cause..." Arthur paused, his gaze fixing on Merlin. "But when it is necessary, a knight accepts the challenge and takes a stand." Arthur pointed with two fingers and Merlin looked behind him. He gaped. Leon had appeared, his hand on the back of a familiar young man—Nob.

The tavern owner's son stared on the gathering with a haughty air, yet a flicker of uncertainty betrayed his nerves. He didn't even glance at Merlin as he was directed to Arthur.

"Nob," Arthur greeted.

The boy bowed his head. "My lord. My father says you requested me."

"You have skill in fighting."

"I have some."

"Do you think it would be sufficient against my knights?"

Nob swallowed visibly. "I...have not fought them, sire."

"Ah, yes. That's true. So I suppose it would be unfair to ask that of you." Arthur met the boy's dark eyes. "And what of my servant?"

Now Nob fidgeted. Arthur had pointed at Merlin, and Nob glanced at the boy he'd so viciously beaten. Merlin stared, stunned.

"Sire, I..." Nob faltered.

"You have already tried him, have you not?"

Nob bit his lip. "I meant no insult."

Arthur's voice went deathly quiet. "And yet, it was. I issue a challenge on my servant's behalf. Do you accept? Or do I name you coward?"

Nob drew his shoulders back, his expression hard and his eyes flashing. "I am no coward."

"Then a boy won't frighten you." Arthur looked to Leon. "Get him ready." Leon pulled Nob aside, dressing him similar to Merlin. Arthur stepped over to Merlin, holding out a hand to aid him up from the bench.

"What are you doing?" Merlin hissed.

Arthur picked up Merlin's discarded helmet, pushing it back on. Merlin readjusted it with trembling hands. "He insulted _me_ , Merlin. He insulted _you_. And if you won't defend yourself out there, then we'll do this the _right_ way here. It's a formal challenge, and you will accept."

"Arthur! He's...big...and...big."

Arthur grasped Merlin's shoulders, staring him straight in the eye. "And nowhere near as skilled as you. I trust you. You will do this because you _can_ do this."

Arthur placed his hand on Merlin's back, pushing him onto the training grounds. He withdrew, and Merlin tried to calm his pounding heart as Leon positioned Nob across from him. _Curse, Arthur!_ What was he without his magic? And he didn't dare use it, not in front of all the knights!

"Begin!" Arthur shouted.

Merlin blinked once, then crouched in a defensive stance. _Think. Just think._ Nob held the sword awkwardly. Merlin guessed he'd never handled one before, or if he had, hadn't done much with it. Still, the older boy made the first move, rushing forward and swinging the sword as if it were a club. Merlin jumped back and slashed out, catching the blow. A shock jolted through his arm. Nob may not have been skilled at swordplay, but he was strong.

Merlin stifled a moan and pressed into the sword, pushing it back enough to distract Nob and swing a hit to his middle. Nob huffed at the force as Merlin's sword found its mark. His eyes watered, then flamed. He began to hack away with the sword, clearly angry Merlin had gotten the better of him so soon in the match. Merlin countered each blow, the footwork and actions ingrained in him by Arthur's teaching coming to the fore. His confidence grew. _I can do this._

Nob finally pulled back, breathing heavily in frustration, and that's when Merlin pushed his advantage. He thrust and slashed to force Nob to defend. The boy's wrist took a blow, and he yelped. He trotted backwards, eyes now unsettled and fearful. Merlin came at him, striking his shoulder and then thigh, Nob's attempts to block his blade weak and ineffective. A grin turned up the corners of Merlin's mouth. Without his friends to hold someone down, Nob was nothing but a scared bully. Merlin kept at it, even a ringing blow to the helmet that had Nob stumbling to his knees. Merlin knocked the sword from his hand.

Nob crumbled, nursing his stinging wounds. Merlin shoved him backwards with his foot, and Nob curled into himself. Merlin recalled the pain, the relentless blows to his head, the forceful kicks pummeling his body. He raised the sword for once final blow. Nob cowered.

Merlin hesitated, panting in harsh and shallow breaths. _A knight seeks not revenge, but justice, and tempers his anger with mercy._ Merlin dropped his sword. He crouched down to peer into Nob's terrified eyes. "Don't ever hurt me again," he growled.

Nob stared wide-eyed.

Merlin stood up, turned, and raised his practice sword. The knights left the benches, cheering, and several patted him on the back. Merlin only had eyes for Arthur, whose grin was so wide it practically left his face.

* * *

Across from the training yard, behind the castle wall, a tree branch shook. A man with hair passing his ears jumped down, hiking back towards the village, a hand to his chin, mind whirling at what he'd just seen. He had taken up his post with the intent to interfere, stop an injustice. Instead, he'd seen justice done, and then some. As he trudged away, an unwelcome question dominated his thoughts: Who _is_ Arthur Pendragon?

* * *

Arthur aided Merlin out of his brigandine, a broad smile still gracing his features. "See. No worries."

Merlin sighed and then groaned at the aches that had returned full force after such exertion. He pulled at his damp shirt, wearily tugging it off.

"Here." Arthur handed him a bucket of water and a sponge.

Merlin gratefully wiped away the sticky sweat and peered sideways at the prince as he stacked the armor and set the practice sword in a stand. "How did you know?"

Arthur turned to him.

"Nob. How did you know it was him?"

"I didn't invade your privacy," Arthur defended himself. "And don't be angry. Morgana came to me. She was worried for you."

Merlin let out a long breath. Of course. He hadn't told her not to say anything.

"This had to be done," Arthur went on, looking away from him. "To preserve honor. _Your_ honor. _My_ honor."

Merlin glanced down at the purple bruises on his chest and gingerly fingered the one gracing his eye.

"Be angry at me, if anyone," Arthur concluded. "And take your days off. Come back when you want to." He made to exit the armory.

"Arthur?" The prince glanced back as Merlin looked over his shoulder. "I'm not angry."

Arthur grinned and stepped back, ruffling Merlin's hair. Merlin didn't shy away, and Arthur left, traipsing down the hall with a spring in his step.

* * *

"Where have you been?" Elyan snapped when Gwaine slipped into a seat at a table in the far right corner of The Rising Sun.

Gwaine stared at the tavern owner behind the counter. "Observing."

"Scouting?"

"Nope. Just looking."

"At what?" Percival asked, catching the glint in the man's eye.

"Knights' training."

"Why?" Elyan asked in disapproval.

Gwaine shrugged.

Elyan waved away his cryptic responses. "We have important matters to discuss. I've talked to several people in the market and identified victims. They're willing to meet."

"Do you think they'll listen?" Percival asked, scratching at his hidden scar.

"I think so."

"It's a dangerous thing," Gwaine muttered, glancing at his friend.

Elyan's eyes widened in surprise. "This from _you_?"

"We've taken villages, towns. This is a capital and a king."

Elyan tightened his crossed arms. "That's why we have to do it. They can't live like this anymore. And you know the way the others look on Camelot. It loses allies."

Gwaine turned away, eyes locked on the tavern door.

"You know what we've been told. The king is planning something. He's going to crush them if they don't defend themselves."

Percival nodded gravely.

"Gwaine?" Elyan asked.

"Hm?"

"What's wrong?"

Gwaine didn't turn. He was watching a young man stumble through the door, limping and clutching at his middle. His father left the counter and grasped his shoulders. Some words passed between them, and the tavern owner gripped the lad by the ear and dragged him to the backroom.

"Gwaine!"

Gwaine looked back. "What if..."

"What?"

"What if this Prince Arthur...what if he's...a decent sort."

Elyan balked. Percival raised his left brow.

"I know what we've said, what we've seen, it's...just..."

"I grew up here," Elyan argued. "Prince Arthur is as arrogant and uncaring as they come."

"He stood up for his servant."

"This Merlin?"

Gwaine nodded. "Set him a challenge with the kid that beat him up. The servant won."

"The challenge would have been issued by the servant," Percival pointed out.

Gaine shook his head. "I don't think so. Not that boy. Not the way he looked when it came time. The prince did it for him."

Elyan sighed loudly. "You think Prince Arthur worthy just because he cares about one servant? Even if he does, he's still his father's son and carries out his father's wishes. Royalty is royalty."

Gwaine didn't answer, swirling the amber liquid in his tankard. Elyan gripped his wrist, piercing him with intense eyes. "They raped your mother. They beat her and killed her. Don't make her death meaningless."

Gwaine snatched his hand away and stood, clenching his jaw. He downed the tankard and tramped back to the counter to fill it again.

"You didn't need to say that. Gwaine knows," Percival insisted.

"He needed a reminder."

"No, he didn't."

"Percival..."

"You didn't lose your family. You never forget something like that." Percival stood and took a place next to Gwaine, laying a thick arm around his friend's shoulders as he leaned on the counter.

Elyan stared at them both, his mouth a grim line. No, he hadn't lost his family, just his dignity and almost his life. In the first village he'd helped, he'd been strung up by his wrists, arms sliced, thighs knifed, ankles cut, left to die like a stuck pig. Royalty, nobles, they didn't care about anything but power. Arthur Pendragon might have appeared to help a servant, but only because somehow it had given him a decided advantage over the common man.

* * *

Arthur hadn't been particularly happy about his father's summons to lunch with him. Every interaction they'd had recently had been either volatile or indifferent. Arthur had given up trying to reconcile the circumstances of his birth with the current state of the kingdom. He'd pushed the pain of his discovery aside, pretending it didn't exist, and yet the truth pervaded everything around him and most of all his relationship with his father.

Memory had plagued him, mostly reminders of Uther's demands of him—unswerving duty, unparalleled skill, unwavering obedience. He had performed as required, dedicating his life to the man who had sired him through evil. He had been born a product of sorcery to shape and mold into a perfect heir. His father's every smile, every declaration of pride, every desired praise had become suspect, sullied by the truth.

So Arthur had approached the dining hall uneasy in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't help grinning anyway. The day had been too good. He'd sat down at the table, digging into his meal, listening to his father chat with their guest, a noble woman who was an old friend of his father's and had arrived for an extended visit.

When the conversation lulled, Uther directed a wary question to his son. "What fortune has dared improve your mood so?"

Arthur didn't even flinch at the backdoor implication that his emotional state had been less than satisfactory of late. "Good training session today."

Uther continued to eat, but his penetrating gaze stayed on Arthur who read the insistence he explain. Arthur knew the reason wouldn't please his father and that made him even more eager to tell.

"Merlin faced his first challenge and was victorious."

Uther swallowed and his eyes grew darker. "You've been training the boy?" He spoke with less surprise and more annoyance.

"He accompanies me on hunts and patrols. He needs _some_ skill."

Uther sighed. "He's a servant."

"So you've told me many times."

"Good for Merlin." Morgana's declaration came from across the table. She met Arthur's gaze and they shared a smile. Her own relationship with Uther had been a bit strained since Lancelot's departure, but it was better than his. Still, Morgana was Morgana and she adored Merlin. "Who issued the challenge?"

Arthur fingered a chicken bone on his plate. The answer to that question was tricky and not for his father's ears. "Young man new to the sword but seeking to prove himself." He winked subtly and Morgana grinned, catching the unspoken explanation.

"Then easily defeated," Uther commented, as if this proved Merlin's victory false.

"Still older and stronger than Merlin. His success was well earned."

Their guest chuckled softly and Arthur looked over at her, seated next to Uther on the left and Morgana on the right.

"Yes?" Uther prompted.

The woman dabbed at her greasy lips. She was as noble as they came, prim, proper, dressed in white laced finery. Her visage might have turned heads when she was younger, but age had tanned and tightened her skin. She exuded authority and power, and Arthur was unsurprised she had been a friend of his father's. She probably had matched him in their day.

"Servants should serve and keep their place."

Arthur's eyes lost their good humor.

Uther nodded. "Yes." He turned his penetrating gaze to Arthur. "But this boy has wormed his way into my son's affection."

Arthur glanced behind the guest. Ever since she'd arrived a constant shadow had attended her, a wizened little man with curly umber hair who clearly doted on her. "And him? If you were attacked, would you expect him to defend you?"

Uther shot a look of disapproval Arthur's way, but the guest laughed all the more. "He would have no need." She smiled at Uther. "I have my own skills."

Uther now laughed as well. "I well remember."

"The Gregorian hunt."

"The boar and the bandit."

"And the flat of a sword."

They continued to giggle and Arthur looked to Morgana who was smiling good-naturedly. She shrugged at him. Arthur had never seen his father so giddy in anyone's presence. It was strange and yet, almost a little charming.

Uther sighed in satisfaction, leaning back in his chair. "Your presence is good for Camelot, Catrina. For _me_." He reached out to take her hand and lay a kiss on the back of it.

Catrina smiled. "It's been too long for both of us."


	48. Of Brothers and Sisters

Gwaine had only been left alone for a moment, but it was enough. He'd wandered past a sleeping Percival who had stayed when he refused to leave the tavern the night before. Elyan had stomped out, cursing Gwaine's weaknesses, and presumably returned home. Gwaine drifted out of the tavern, squinting blearily at the sun's new rays attempting to cut through the morning fog. He'd succeeded in silencing the pain once more though liquid sustenance, but couldn't escape the aftereffects.

He swayed down the main street, early rising passers by sending cursory glances to the shaggy haired man who'd obviously had one too many. Gwaine stumbled in a deep rut and careened into a fence surrounding a small yard. A low moaning drew his attention and he looked up into a pair of large brown eyes, contemplative and attached to a lazily chewing mouth. He blinked a couple times and pushed himself upright. He'd once had a horse. Wait...Maybe this _was_ his horse. He reached out to pat a wet nose. Horse. It'd be a lot easier to navigate if he could stop worrying about his own forward movement.

Gwaine noticed a latch and clicked a gate open. He thrust himself upwards several times, but couldn't get his limbs coordinated enough to mount. Grumbling, he struggled to climb the fence. He managed to straddle it, then shakily perch on it and leap for the back of the animal. Startled, the creature jumped, crashed against the fence, then somehow found the gate.

"Yaw!" Gwaine encouraged, slapping hard at the animal's hide. A voice shouted from behind him.

"Thief! Thief!"

Gwaine yawned and leaned over the creature's back, clinging to its neck. A little sleep. Just a little.

* * *

Gaius had roused Merlin earlier than usual. A patient in his chambers was suffering from a raging fever, so he sent the boy for more water. Merlin shivered in the morning chill, trudging through the thick fog in his nightclothes, carting a pail. He'd only worked the pump for a moment when a crashing cacophony sounded from outside. He jumped back, coming fully awake when a cow lurched through the gates then slid and fell on the slick cobblestones. A man was tossed off its back and went rolling, then lay still.

Merlin rushed to the figure, surprised to find the long-haired man from the tavern, Gwaine, staring wearily up at him. A smile broke upon his lips. "You, boy. Good lad. Good work. Well done."

Merlin had experienced his fair share of drunks. The man had scraped himself up pretty good all about the face. He lifted an arm to touch Merlin's cheek and groaned. Merlin heard guards shouting, coming through the gates. The fog was thick. Maybe they wouldn't see him immediately. His eyes gleamed gold for a moment as he turned away to send a couple barrels clattering away on the other side of the courtyard.

Merlin shook the man. "Come on. Stand up."

He pushed and prodded until Gwaine rose to his feet, then pulled him along to the archway that led to the outside stairs of Gaius' tower. Soldiers pounded all over the cobblestones and one called out, "I found the cow!"

Merlin aided the man up the stairs with difficulty, taking most of his weight. When he reached Gaius' chamber he was fortunate the door was still open. He shuffled inside and tried to sit Gwaine at the table. The man missed the bench and crashed to the floor, pitching over into unconsciousness.

"Merlin?" Gaius inquired, moving from his patient to the passed out Gwaine.

"He was in the courtyard."

Gaius crouched down next to him and winced at the potent smell of alcohol. He forced open the lid of one eye and then the other. "Drunk. Was he in a fight?"

"Eh..."

"Merlin!"

"He was being chased by guards. He might have...stolen something."

Gaius popped up. "Stolen something? And you brought him here?"

"He was riding a cow. I don't think he knew _what_ he was doing."

"Of course he didn't! But you do! He'll be looked for and now he's here."

"He helped me, I just thought I couldn't leave him there."

Gaius stared at Merlin for a moment then sighed and gripped him by the shoulder. "Help me get him to your room."

Merlin smiled and aided Gaius in the transference of the man from the floor to his bed.

* * *

"Where were you last night?" Gwen asked quietly. She peered at Elyan seated across from her sipping a cup of herbal tea.

"Just tavern."

Gwen filled a bowl with porridge and set it in front of Elyan. "I have to go up to the castle and see to Morgana."

Elyan didn't look up as he stirred his breakfast.

"Elyan?"

Elyan sighed loudly. "What, Gwen?"

"Why are you really here?"

"To see you and father," Elyan shot back.

Gwen held her ground, her dark eyes intensely serious. "I saw you in the market talking to people. People who hate Uther Pendragon."

"And for good reason," Elyan mumbled, still not partaking of the porridge.

"They're bitter people that imagine he's done them great evil."

Elyan raised his head, his somber eyes reflecting her own. "How can you defend him? Deny the executions? The punishments? It makes no difference to you that he tramples innocents?"

Gwen's eyelids fluttered nervously. "The king hasn't always been right, but I think ruling is more complicated than we know."

Elyan suddenly smiled and reached out to catch her hand in his. "My dear sister. You've always been so willing to see the good, but you must leave this to me. Change must come to Camelot and soon."

"Change?" Gwen's tone grew alarmed.

"A new day for us all." Elyan smiled brightly, and a cold chill ran up Gwen's spine.

Gwen squeezed his hand tightly. "Please. Come with me today. I want you to meet Morgana and Arthur."

Elyan jerked his hand away from her. "Stop it."

"Please, Elyan."

"I have things to do."

Gwen stood angrily and slammed her palms on the table. "You talk of change and injustice. What if you're unjust? You don't even know them."

"I already know what I need to."

Gwen clenched her teeth. "I won't let you hurt them."

Elyan stared up at her as if he didn't even know her. His brow furrowed angrily. "If you interfere..."

"You'll what? Hurt me? Kill me? Is that what you'd do to make what you believe true?" Gwen rushed to the door, snatching her cloak off a peg on the wall. "Leave us. Go away and don't come back ever again." The door slammed shut behind her.

* * *

Merlin yawned as he stumbled back into Gaius' chambers with a tray. After being sent back out to retrieve the water bucket he'd abandoned when he rescued Gwaine, he'd dressed and gone to the kitchens, returning with two steaming bowls of broth. Gaius glanced up from his patient when he entered.

"How is he?" Merlin asked.

Gaius harrumphed. "Fever's broken. Who's that for?"

"Him...and Gwaine."

Gaius' eyes flicked to Merlin's bedroom door. "If you can rouse him."

"Did you find out anything?"

Gaius grumbled. "How I get pulled into your schemes."

Merlin smothered a grin. He knew he took advantage of Gaius' patience sometimes, but really, he did _try_ to do the right thing.

"The guards are convinced they have a thief running around the lower town. They're searching it, assuming he fled back there. And they don't have a good description so your new friend is safe for now." Gaius set a critical eye on him. "Get him out of here as soon as you can."

Merlin nodded. He handed one bowl to Gaius, then carried the other to his room. Gwaine was waving his left hand at his forehead, muttering incoherently.

"Nero!" Merlin shouted.

The bird stopped pecking at the man's loose hair and fluttered to Merlin's desk. Merlin shook his head at the bird and set the broth down on the crate next to his bed.

"Hey," Merlin murmured, nudging Gwaine's cheek with a knuckle as he'd seen Gaius do when trying to awaken patients. "Wake up."

Gwaine murmured several words under his breath, but Merlin couldn't understand them. The broth was going to get cold if he couldn't wake him soon. He stood, moving back to his door and down the steps, then halting in surprise when he found Morgana staring at him.

"Morgana!"

She had her hands on her hips, and Gaius was staunchly looking away from him. She was dressed in her riding clothes, another early morning for her then, probably going back out to search for Lancelot. Merlin had missed the knight as much as anyone, but Morgana had missed him most of all. His stomach twisted whenever he saw her riding out and coming back alone.

"I came to see how you were doing," Morgana said. She placed a hand on his head, smoothing down his hair.

"I'm all right."

"Arthur says you had a victory yesterday."

"Yeah," Merlin consented, unsuccessfully suppressing a smile.

Morgana smiled back and looked him in the eye. "And you're hiding something now, aren't you?"

"Eh..."

"I caught the commotion in the courtyard this morning. Thought I saw you in the fog hurrying away. And Gaius"—the physician didn't look up—"insists I am mistaken."

Morgana took his shoulders, moving him to the side.

"Wait!" Merlin cried out, but the ward climbed the steps in seconds. Merlin followed her. "I can explain."

Morgana stared at the man sprawled out on the bed. "The rogue," she muttered in amusement. She glanced back at Merlin. "You don't have to explain. I know why you're helping him. My overly kind Merlin."

Merlin smiled sheepishly. "You won't tell anyone?"

"You know I won't."

"He needs to wake up and eat."

"Does he? Well, then." Morgana snapped up the pitcher of water on a washstand and dipped a finger in it. She nodded and returned to the bed, upending it over Gwaine's head. Gwaine came to, spluttering and shocked and bleary eyed. Morgana grinned in satisfaction.

Gwaine shook his head and blinked his eyes, then focused on the woman staring down at him. "The angel." He smiled lopsidedly.

Morgana rolled her eyes. "You don't know when to quit."

Gwaine only grinned stupidly.

Morgana handed the pitcher to Merlin. "Be good for him," she commanded Gwaine. "He's saving your hide." She leaned in close to him. "And I'm taken, so keep your eyes and hands off." She turned and flounced down the stairs.

Merlin replaced the pitcher, picked up a cloth, and closed the door. He handed the cloth to Gwaine who sucked in a breath when he attempt to move his right arm. He glanced down to see it swathed in a bandage. Gwaine took the cloth in his left hand and wiped at his face and hair.

"It's just a sprain, Gaius says," Merlin reported. "I brought you broth." He retrieved the bowl from the crate and sat on a stool next to Gwaine, scooping up a spoonful.

Gwaine dutifully opened his mouth and let Merlin feed him. He swallowed several mouthfuls before he spoke. "Why am I here?"

Merlin laughed. "You were riding a cow."

"A cow?" Gwaine's eyes went wide.

"You don't remember?"

Gwaine shook his head.

"I think you stole it."

Gwaine groaned and swiped at his forehead. "I got drunk again."

"Um hm," Merlin agreed as he held out the spoon and Gwaine accepted it again.

"She said you're saving me. You found me?"

"You made it to the courtyard, then fell off. Guards were after you."

Gwaine laughed. "You're an interesting lad, aren't you? Punch me, then help me."

"Well, you insulted Arthur then saved me."

Gwaine's happy demeanor faltered. "Yeah." He lay back and pushed the bowl away. Merlin set it down. "What would your prince think, you helping a thief?"

Merlin shrugged. "I'm not sure."

Gwaine's eyes glanced at the door. "She's different, yeah? She's not going to turn me in."

"She's good. So's Arthur."

Gwaine fixed his eyes on Merlin. "What is it about him? How's he earned your loyalty?"

Merlin's eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "Arthur's taught me everything. Reading, writing, riding, weapons. Saved my life a couple times." He met Gwaine's skeptical gaze. "He wants to be fair and just. He wouldn't ever do the things that happened to you."

Gwaine sighed and his hand clasped the necklace resting on his chest.

"What is it?" Merlin asked. "The symbol."

Gwaine looked over at him. "Dragonscale."

Merlin's breath caught in his throat. " _Dragon_ scale. Why?" Could he be another dragonlord?

"Was my mother's. She always wore it. Said it meant resilience. Reminded her to keep going. "

Merlin calmed. He wasn't a dragonlord, then. He raised his right arm and pulled at his sleeve to reveal his own bracelet. "Dragon crest."

Gwaine huffed. "To show you're the prince's man."

"Gwen gave it to me."

Gwaine cast his eye over Merlin's room. "This where you live?" Merlin nodded. Gwaine noted several objects incongruous for a poor servant boy—an expensive lute in the corner, a large tome that looked to be a hundred years old, and a sword hung on the wall above the desk, newly polished and sporting dragons on the pommel and cross-guard. "He takes good care of you then, your prince."

"He'd do anything to help me, and I him." Gwaine noted the pleading in the boy's eyes, begging him to understand.

"I saw your match yesterday. The one at the knights' training." Merlin raised his eyebrows. "You did well. He set it up, didn't he?"

Merlin slowly nodded, not sure if Gwaine would consider that a good or bad thing.

Gwaine drew in a long breath. He'd had a brother. Well, half-brother. The son of the man who'd raped his mother, a son considered a prince instead of a mistress' bastard. He swallowed hard, pushing away painful memory, the brother he'd looked up to who had laid it all on the line for him and been disinherited.

Gwaine pushed on his closed eyes with his forefingers. After his mother's death he'd been angry, seeking every revenge, justice for one and all. And now?

Gwaine used his left hand to push to a sitting position. Merlin aided with a hand to his back. "Thanks for your help. I need to go."

"But they'll be looking for you."

Gwaine forced a carefree grin. "They won't find me." He winked.

Merlin followed the man out into Gaius' chamber. Gaius fixed Gwaine with a look of disapproval, but didn't say anything as Merlin left and guided the man to a side exit. Gwaine peered outside, then turned to clap Merlin on the shoulder.

"Take care, lad."

Merlin watched him go, not quite sure why his heart suddenly felt a bit empty.

* * *

Arthur had been ordered to _another_ meeting. So many meetings. His father had been increasingly distressed about Camelot's decreasing allies. He'd called in friends and lords and nobles, negotiating pacts and treaties, solidifying bonds. Arthur knew it had to be done, but it wasn't exactly stimulating, and he felt even more constrained when he contemplated that someday it would be him who was expected to lead meetings and make decisions as king.

King. His every waking hour since he could remember had been honed in on his future as a ruler. Everything had been preparing him for that moment he'd stand on the dais, swear himself to the love of Camelot, and take the throne. He'd never questioned it. It was his purpose and destiny. Now he wished it had never been thrust upon him.

He firmed his jaw. If he weren't on a track to be king he could have taken Gwen as a wife by now, worked alongside her in a field or blacksmith's shop. He could gallivant all over the countryside with Merlin at his side without fearing censure. He could have left with Lancelot and gone adventuring who knows where, free from the castle that threatened to suffocate him.

Arthur paused, leaning against a wall. The memory came back, his vision in the cave, and he bit back a groan. If he hadn't been born, his mother would be alive. He sucked in several breaths, pushing the truth away as he always did. Just take one step and then another. Don't think. Keep going.

He raised his head when he heard sniffling. Someone nearby was crying. Arthur sneaked down a side hall to a room not much used, discarded furniture stacked inside. He peered around a large chair.

"Gwen?" he asked in surprise.

"Arthur!" She looked up and would have leaped to her feet if he hadn't held her by the shoulder and slipped down next to her.

"Why are you in here?" Arthur asked.

"Morgana went out again, and I was supposed to see to the cleaning of the hall, and..."

"Guinevere." Arthur's tone was soft and he brushed at the tears on her cheeks. "What is it?"

"Elyan," she whispered.

"Your brother?"

"He's back."

They hadn't discussed her brother much, but Arthur had sensed her abiding love for him. He recalled she had once insisted he wouldn't like him, that he'd broken the law. "Are you afraid for me to meet him?"

Gwen's mouth firmed into a line. "I...He..."

"I won't hate him. For your sake."

Gwen leaned into him and Arthur wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "He's still as angry as when he left."

"Why did he leave?" Arthur prompted gently.

"He was...unhappy with...the king."

Arthur let out soft laugh. Gwen peered up at him. "I know my father hasn't made friends of everyone."

"Elyan thought a noble cheated our father, and he'd already caused some trouble, stirring up villagers. When the king didn't see the situation the same and let the debt go, Elyan attacked the noble and was put in the stocks." Gwen squeezed her tightly clasped hands. "Father was humiliated. He wouldn't even go get him when he was released. I did. And then they argued and he left."

Arthur took a deep breath. "Was your brother right? Was your father cheated?"

"I don't know. Father said he didn't want to challenge the king. Your father's always been a good patron to him."

Arthur kissed the top of her head. "What can I do?"

Gwen sighed. "Nothing. He wouldn't listen to you. But, Arthur," she gazed up at him. "I'm afraid. He might do something else and maybe this time, he'll die."

Arthur didn't respond, holding her closer, letting her rest in his arms. His brows met in determination. He was a prince, and her brother a subject. He may not listen, but he would be forced to at least hear.

* * *

Elyan sat back, a satisfied smile on his face. It faded when Percival appeared. "Well?"

"I can't find him."

Elyan cursed. Where had Gwaine got to? "You checked the cells?" Percival nodded, worry etched on his face. Elyan sighed. "He'll turn up." And he'd get an earful when he did. He'd done this before, but not in a while, and he needed to be here. His story did more than anyone's to light a fire in the hearts of the mistreated.

"How'd the meeting go?" Percival asked.

"You should have been here." Percival didn't answer. Elyan went on. "Fine. Good. Uther's made enemies here."

"I've been thinking of what Gwaine said about this being a capital and a king."

"You're not getting cold feet, are you?"

Percival smiled without humor. "I don't get cold feet, but I'm not sure we need to stir them up right now."

"Is there ever a perfect time?"

"No, but..."

Elyan's eyes flashed. "Percival, you know why we've been sent here. Something's going to happen."

"But what?"

"I don't know, but someone does and they've tipped us off. We have to be ready."

Percival sighed and nodded.

Elyan stood. "I'm going back home. You coming?"

"Gwaine?"

"Where else could he be?"

"I'll just look a little more."

"Suit yourself." Elyan left and shook off Gwaine's disappearance. It didn't matter. They'd listened to him. They agreed something had to be done about Uther. He had people at his back and more would join.

He reached his home and paused to gather himself. Gwen had demanded he leave, but he had as much right as her to be here. Still, he hated to upset her. She didn't understand. She'd been tricked by the condescending hand outs of the king's ward.

He flung the door open boldly, stepping through, then halted in disbelief.

"Elyan?" A man he had seen but never talked to stood up from the table.

"S-sire," Elyan stammered. Did he know? Had someone told him? Was Gwen to blame? He almost turned to run, but Prince Arthur spoke on.

"I'm concerned about your sister. I wanted to talk with you privately."

"Oh?"

The prince gestured to the table. Elyan slowly closed the door and did as asked. The prince leaned his hips against the counter across from him. "She cares about you."

Elyan said nothing, unsure what the prince wanted from him.

"She's worried. She thinks you're going to cause trouble."

Elyan couldn't help it; he snorted disdainfully. "Me?"

"She's told me of your past. I'm sorry you felt cheated."

"We _were_ cheated."

Arthur shifted, holding out his hands in a nonthreatening gesture. "I know my father can be a hard man and make the wrong decisions, say the wrong things, but he does have the best for his people in his heart and mind."

"Oh does he?" Elyan came back, anger crossing his features. "Tell that to those who suffer under his policies, his taxes, his punishments."

"Kings have to make difficult choices."

"And you?"

"I want to be friends."

Elyan's eyes widened in shock. "What?"

"Tell me your grievances. Maybe I can help."

Elyan laughed. "So you can turn in anyone who disagrees with the mighty Pendragons?"

Arthur clenched his jaw. This was Gwen's brother. It wouldn't do to get in a fight with him. "Your sister is a good woman and she wants to help you. I thought I could aid her."

Elyan narrowed his eyes for a moment. "Why do you even care about a simple maid?" He stared into Arthur's eyes and read...desire. "Have you..." Elyan suddenly jumped up from his seat. "You've taken her, haven't you? You've..." Elyan cut off, flying across the table, fist pulled back.

Arthur's eyes flamed as he caught Elyan's meaning. He deftly ducked the punch and twisted the man's hand behind his back. "Never, ever, would I do something so abominable to her or any woman." He shoved Elyan away and stepped closer to the door.

"Stay out of her life. She doesn't need you," Elyan warned.

Arthur's hands balled into fists. He stared down the younger man. "If you do anything that leads to your death, it will destroy her. Don't do anything so stupid." He backed up to the door and out.

Elyan stared after the prince, then picked up a cup and threw it at the door, shattering it to pieces.

* * *

Uther paused in his walk to lean down and pluck a vibrant blue blossom. He savored the scent, then turned to offer it to the woman next to him. She accepted it, beaming at him.

"So your negotiations go well then."

For the past hour Catrina had insisted on his regaling her with the content of his meetings. He had protested she'd be bored, but she'd hung on his every word. "Yes."

"That's good. Very good. You need allies now. Strong houses. Especially as the people grow uneasy."

Uther cocked his head in confusion. "The people?"

Catrina glanced back several meters at her squat servant shuffling behind. "Jonas has been to the market. He always listens and tells me what he hears."

"And?"

"It seems some are not so happy with your rule."

Uther smiled dismissively. "Any king who didn't earn detractors wouldn't be fulfilling his purpose." He took her arm and began strolling again. "You know as well as I that you cannot please everyone."

"Quite so," Catrina replied. "And yet, when the people start meeting to discuss their dissatisfaction, it is a bit more worrisome."

Uther stopped again. "Meeting?"

"Jonas!" The rumpled old man ran to her side. "Tell Uther what you heard."

"Maybe a plan," Jonas hissed out. "Rumors of discontent. A take over."

Uther stared and then laughed heartily. "They wouldn't stand a chance." He patted Catrina's arm. "Gossip isn't worth worry." He moved on.

"Yes. I'm sure you're right," Catrina agreed.

Uther nodded, but doubt had taken root.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Have to credit my eight year old for the plot idea involving the cow. I've been reading this to her as I write it, and she's always willing to give me ideas and some stick!


	49. From Beauty to Beast

Gwaine startled, his hand swinging to the pommel of his sword, when a heavy weight clasped onto his shoulder. He looked up, ready to fight, but found the jovial smile of a large man disarming him.

"Percival," he groaned.

"What are you doing here?" Percival asked, surveying the pile of hay behind the local stables Gwaine had curled himself into.

"Getting my beauty sleep," Gwaine grumbled and yawned, relaxing back into the hay.

Percival sat down next to him, leaning back and smiling. "Elyan's irate."

Gwaine chuckled. "I'm sure he is...You ever wonder if we should have rescued him?"

"Gwaine," Percival chastised.

"Right, something I shouldn't joke about." They'd sought out Elyan after he'd caught their attention with a speech about standing up to unjust nobles. Turned out one of those nobles had been threatened enough to end the young man for good.

Gwaine rubbed at his chin. "Elyan's found supporters?"

Percival nodded.

Gwaine covered his mouth as he yawned again. "I've been asking around, too. You know what I hear more often than not? Praise for this Arthur Pendragon, like he's a good sort. You know what he's done?"

Percival shook his head.

"That serving boy of his, found him wandering around in the woods after a raid. Against Druids. That's a strike against him I guess, but then, he took this boy in his charge and..."

"What?"

Gwaine scratched at his scruffy cheek. "Drank poison."

Percival raised an eyebrow.

"It's true. Boy claimed the royals' cups were poisoned and was about to take a drink to prove it and then the prince up and drinks it all himself to spare him."

Percival's sea blue eyes clouded.

"And then another time the prince puts the boy in the stocks."

"Second strike?"

Gwaine held up a finger. "Turns out he was enchanted when he ordered it. Goes right to the stocks when he's freed and takes the boy's care on himself, kneeling in the dirt, giving the boy a drink, washing him up."

Percival stared. "There's more?"

Gwaine nodded. "Boy's been taken twice. Not sure why, no one's clear on that, but the prince went after him each time."

There was silence for a moment. "So what do you think?"

"This boy means a lot to the prince, and I've talked to the boy. They're more like brothers."

"So it's just one boy..."

"But it isn't. There are other things the prince has done, helping out, listening to the people's troubles..." Gwaine ran a hand through his hair.

"Why do you care?" Percival inquired. "You never have before."

Gwaine brought his arms up and pillowed the back of his head with his hands. He closed his eyes. "I've never really told you and Elyan everything that happened," he confessed and cracked an eye to see Percival passively staring at him. He closed it again. "After he killed my mother, my _father_ "—the title was a curse on Gwaine's lips—"tried to kill me." Gwaine's mind was thrust back years to a youth cowering as a sword came swinging down, but it was blocked. "The youngest prince stopped him. They got in a fight. He was wounded." Gwaine opened his eyes. "I ran away. Heard later he survived, but he'd been disinherited."

"He was your brother, then. The prince."

Gwaine nodded once.

"A decent sort like this Prince Arthur, you think?"

"I'm worried he is," Gwaine muttered, wiping hands over his eyes in frustration. Coming to Camelot had made things way more complicated than he preferred.

Percival fingered the scar on his scalp. "Even if he has a bit of decency, there's still the king to reckon with. What do they say about him?"

"Mixed," Gwaine reported. "Sometimes he seems fair, other times he violates and hurts."

"We should get back to Elyan."

Gwaine laughed. "And say what?"

"What you've found out. He might not like it, but he should hear it. And you should hear him."

Gwaine smiled and squeezed his friend's shoulder. Good old Percival. Ever the mediator. "Lead on."

Percival stood and aided his friend to his feet.

* * *

Gwen finished lacing the back of Morgana's lilac dress. "Are you joining the king at lunch today?"

Morgana slowly shook her head, her long braid swishing back and forth, staring at herself in her mirror.

"What will you do?"

"You have the day off again, Gwen."

Gwen sighed. "My lady, please."

"I'm all right."

"So you say, but you're not."

Morgana toyed with the sapphire necklace at her throat. "He gave this to me. It must have taken all his earnings for months."

Gwen rested her hands on her lady's shoulders. "He loves you still."

"You can't know that."

"I remember how he looked at you, talked about you. You meant everything to him."

"Not enough to keep him here."

Gwen lowered her gaze. "Please don't look for him anymore. It hurts you too much."

Morgana lifted a hand to squeeze one of Gwen's at her shoulder. "I have to know why he hasn't come back."

"You're not wearing your riding clothes," Gwen commented, resigned.

"I need to talk to Arthur, then Uther." She turned. "I'll be gone for some time. Ask the steward how he can use you. But for now, go home. Take the day."

Gwen leaned forward to give an encouraging hug. "I could go with you."

"Your brother's here. Spend time with him instead of waiting on me."

Gwen pulled back, not quite smiling, and left without another word. Morgana stood. She ran a hand over the bracelet at her wrist. She'd taken it off several times after Lancelot's departure, but never did it reveal his whereabouts. Instead it repeated the nightmare she'd tried to deny, the one that showed herself in Uther's chambers watching him die, and then holding onto Arthur as he wept, her eyes filled with profound guilt.

Her heels clicked rapidly as she made her way out her door and toward Arthur's chambers. Lancelot had loved her in spite of the truth. Now, she had no one to cling to. She was lost, without support and a center. She needed him. Desperately. Before she went mad.

* * *

Arthur burst into the council chambers to the sight of advisers scurrying away, several with consternation on their faces. His father had risen from his seat at the end of the table, smiling at the woman to his right, Catrina, whose presence was unexpected.

"Father!" he called out, marching up to the king.

"Arthur," the king returned neutrally.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't aware you called another meeting."

Uther glanced briefly over at him, then began to shuffle his papers. "I didn't ask for your attendance."

Catrina laughed, the sound grating on Arthur's ears. "Your father is quite capable of ruling on his own."

Arthur ignored her. "I would have come."

"Why?" Uther asked, fixing him with eyes of derision. "I don't need the advice of someone who spends his time looking after servants rather than devoting himself to his kingdom."

Arthur swallowed hard and ground his teeth against the angry retort in his throat. Despite his recent thoughts of what it would be like to escape the cage of his birth, fierce love for his people rose to the surface. "I would have gladly been here."

"Gladly?" Catrina snorted.

Uther waved at her, gesturing in agreement. "You attend with reluctance. You sit with a scowl. Your presence discourages the council. It is time you take your leave of this duty."

Arthur stared in shock. "You're denying me the right to sit at your side?"

"For now. Think on yourself, Arthur. _Who_ you are. Go."

Arthur didn't move. His father had insisted he attend the meetings, learn from them, give valuable counsel, and now he was being summarily tossed aside? His lips pinched together. He had pushed too far, hadn't he? He knew his father resented his care of Merlin and he'd thrown it in his face.

"Do you still know how to obey your king?"

Arthur blinked, coming back to the moment.

"Out. Now."

Arthur turned. His father hadn't yelled like he often did, but Arthur found the calm way he'd been dismissed felt worse.

Uther watched his son exit. Catrina linked an arm around his. "A wise decision. He doesn't have your insight or intelligence."

Uther sighed grumpily. No. It was becoming obvious to him that Arthur wasn't ready for the throne and might never be. He glanced at Catrina. _She_ knew what it meant to rule, to seek the good of the entire kingdom not just individuals within it. Her advice to him had been sound and logical. She was the kind of woman that would make a perfect queen.

* * *

Gwen hesitated at the door of her home. Last she'd spoken to Elyan, she'd demanded he leave. She feared to find him gone, but also to find him there. She'd dreamt of his return so long and the close relationship they'd recapture, and instead been handed anger and argument. She tentatively pushed on the door. Elyan wasn't present. She entered and peeked through a curtain Elyan had been sleeping behind. His bag was propped in a corner.

A clanging sounded from the door to the open air forge. She passed through it, wanting relief, a moment to converse with her father about nothing consequential, but stopped in surprise. "Elyan!"

Her brother pounded away on the anvil, shaping something. "Father needed help," he muttered. "He's out."

Gwen assumed delivering a sword he'd worked for weeks perfecting for a local noble. Gwen leaned against the wall, watching her brother 's skill. Their father had hoped he'd take over the forge some day.

"Where have you been?" Elyan questioned.

"Citadel like always."

"You didn't come home last night."

"Morgana needed me." The king's ward had been so distressed even if she didn't say anything, and Gwen had decided she couldn't leave her alone, not to mention she'd feared returning here. "I sent a courier to father to let him know."

"What were you doing?"

Gwen frowned at the hint of accusation in his tone. "Tending to Morgana. She's been upset of late."

Elyan shoved the metal back into the furnace, twisting it, and then withdrew it again, pummeling it. "I had a visitor yesterday."

Gwen raised her eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Prince Arthur."

Her heart sank and worry appeared on her features as Elyan shot a glance at her. "Said he wanted to talk to me."

"About what?" Her voice was hushed.

"You."

Gwen worried her lip. "What did he say?"

Elyan had stopped hammering and stood holding the tongs, the misshapen metal in their grasp waving around as he spoke. "That you wanted to _help_ me because I might cause trouble."

"I wasn't trying to turn you in..."

"How has he bought you, Gwen?" Elyan shouted. "Gifts, jewels, whispered promises?"

"W-hat?"

"Where were you last night? The truth!"

"I tended Morgana."

Elyan stepped closer to her. "How many times have you shared his bed?"

Gwen backed away. "Never."

"You're a disgrace."

Tears appeared in Gwen's eyes. "He isn't like that. He wouldn't do that."

Elyan clenched his jaw. "You think you love him."

Gwen's chin trembled. "No."

Elyan dropped the tongs into the water bucket, steam shooting up from it. He swung around and grasped her wrist. "You think I'm the one who needs help? You've sold yourself to him."

Gwen pulled at his hold. "Let me go."

"Tell me the truth!"

"I love him!" Gwen cried out. "I do. But not like you think. I've never been with him like that, I swear to you."

Elyan let her go. "You imagine he cares for you. He has one use for a _servant_ girl."

"No, he..."

"Would never consider a peasant a worthy match!" Elyan shouted. "The king would have his head _and_ yours!"

Gwen's lungs began to hurt, her heart to ache.

"Elyan?" Both of the siblings glanced at the house as a voice called out. When Elyan turned back, Gwen had disappeared. He peered into the street but didn't see her.

"Elyan?" Percival popped his head into the forge. "I found Gwaine. What are you doing?"

"Nothing." Elyan stomped back into the house and seeing Gwaine at the table, threw his hand out. "Where have you been?"

Gwaine met his gaze. "We need to talk."

* * *

Merlin was prattling along like always, busying about the room cleaning various bits of it. He'd just returned to his duties, and Arthur would usually be all ears, but today the boy only registered as a background droning. He'd been denied meetings with his father because his actions had shown he didn't care. But he did care. Hang it all, he cared more than anyone knew!

Arthur glanced at the boy now at the table, wiping it down with a cloth and still rambling on. Merlin. The boy he'd rescued, cared for, grown close to...who'd become a wedge between himself and his father. And instead of being judicious about it, Arthur had known his father's feelings and flagrantly challenged them.

Arthur tapped a finger on his desk. _Had_ he put a boy above his kingdom? Above his people? He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. He'd almost killed himself to save the boy. He'd gone after the boy twice, risking himself, his life, the solitary heir to the throne of Camelot. And if he died? Arthur clenched his jaw, turmoil rumbling within, anxiety that his father might have been right after all.

But there was something about Merlin. He couldn't explain why he felt more loyalty for the youth cleaning his room than the father who'd raised him. Merlin was like a brother he had been denied. Because his mother had died. Because his father chose to dabble in dangerous magic.

Arthur rested his elbows on his desk, his head in his hands.

"Arthur?"

"Hm?"

"I was asking you about Gwaine."

"Gwaine?"

"The man who brought me back after I got beat up."

Arthur raised his head. "What about him?"

"I think he might be starting to like you."

Arthur crinkled an eyebrow. "Like me?"

"I talked to him and he asked about you. His dad's a king."

"What?" Arthur asked in surprise.

"Yeah, but he's...like me."

It took Arthur a moment to understand. Ah. The son of a mistress then. Or worse.

"And his father killed his mother, so he doesn't like kings and stuff."

Arthur sighed, thinking of his encounter with Elyan. Gwaine could get in line. Royalty didn't seem to be very popular at the moment. "Which king was it?"

"I didn't ask." Merlin stopped stoking the fire. "I should have. I will. Hey! Maybe you can come see him with me."

"You're meeting him?"

"I want to find him. I think he's good really at heart."

Arthur let a restrained smile grace his features. This was one of the reasons he preferred Merlin. Why couldn't his father exude a positive outlook once in a while? Arthur sighed. Because he had the kingdom on his shoulders. _A kingdom that will one day be on_ my _shoulders._

The door to his chambers swung open. Merlin grinned as Morgana stepped in. She smiled as she walked to Arthur, skimming her fingers over the top of Merlin's head in greeting. "Arthur."

"Morgana," he acknowledged. "What is it?"

"Why do you always assume I want something?"

Arthur laughed in spite of his troubled thoughts. "Because you _always_ do these days. Even when we were children. Fix this thing, Arthur. Play with me, Arthur. Help me hide from the ruffians, Arthur."

Morgana leaned over to swat his shoulder. "I _never_ asked you to deal with ruffians. I dealt with them myself."

Arthur smiled pleasantly. "So what is it this time?"

Morgana took a long breath. "Lancelot."

Arthur groaned. "We've been over this."

"I have a lead."

Arthur cocked his head.

"I found a tavern owner from Arlswick who saw him less than a month ago."

"But he could have gone anywhere since then."

"He's been there at least three times since he left here."

Arthur heard the hope in her voice. He didn't want to crush it, but— "That's no guarantee."

"I want you to ride there with me. Uther won't let me go alone if I ask."

Arthur considered. His father didn't want him around anyway. He could go and...No. If he left now, what message would that communicate? That he certainly didn't care about the kingdom, that he put an ex-knight above his people. "I can't," he spoke softly.

"Can't or won't?" Morgana snapped.

"Morgana..."

"It's like you never cared about Lancelot."

Arthur scowled, rising from his seat. "You know that's not true. But I have duties here. I'm heir."

Morgana glared at him.

Arthur gestured to the youth by the fireplace. "Take Merlin."

"What?" Merlin jumped up.

"Don't go alone. Take Merlin with you."

"And you think Uther will be content with that?" Morgana asked.

"But I want to stay here," Merlin protested.

Arthur ignored him. "You've ridden out every other time without anyone."

"I plan to be gone for several days," Morgana explained.

"Arthur. I want to stay here," Merlin reiterated.

"I don't care," Arthur exclaimed, looking at his servant. "Go to your room and pack. You're going with Morgana." Merlin opened his mouth. "My mind's decided. Don't press me."

Merlin bowed his head and slumped out of the room. Arthur hated to upset the boy, but sending him away would give him an opportunity to clear his head, figure out Merlin's proper place in his life and kingdom.

"I'll go to father with you and explain," Arthur said to the ward.

* * *

Merlin rode next to Morgana. The king had consented to let his ward travel with only a servant way more easily than he thought. He had hoped for a refusal so he could stay near Arthur. It always felt wrong to be apart from the prince.

Merlin blew out a breath and reached out to pet the head of the kestrel perched on Lebryt's neck. Ever since his visions in the caves, he'd felt even more the pressure to stick with Arthur. Kilgharrah had said Arthur could become like the man he saw killing sorcerers with abandon, or the great king rushing into battle with his trusted warlock. _I'm supposed to be at his side_ , Merlin grumbled. Arthur and him, uniting Albion, though that part of the prophecy still eluded him. Albion was in turmoil, kings and lords fighting for this and that land, lots of them hating Camelot, and neither he nor Arthur had much power to change it.

"Arthur can take care of himself."

Merlin looked to Morgana. "I know."

"Then why do you look so worried?"

Merlin shrugged.

Morgana just grinned.

"You really think we'll find Lancelot?" Merlin asked.

"I'm afraid to hope."

Merlin did hope. If the knight were back, he could share some of his visions and worries and maybe the knight would have more insight than Gaius, who continued to harp on the theme of a fluid future.

A tingling zipped up Merlin's spine and he gasped.

"Merlin?" Morgana asked in concern.

Merlin bent over his horse's neck. Magic. Somewhere nearby. Just like he'd felt when he'd caught Nimueh disguised as Bayard poisoning the royal goblets. He turned Lebryt. Nero took flight, attracted to magic's use.

"Merlin!"

Merlin galloped ahead, then zoomed to the left. Lebryt began to protest in whinnies and whines when his hooves sank into the earth. Bog land. Merlin dismounted, continuing on foot.

"Merlin!" Merlin heard Morgana dismount as well and come after him. "Stop!"

Merlin's boots began to slide in thick muck. He halted to steady himself and Morgana grasped his elbow.

"Where are you going?" she hissed.

"Something's wrong," he whispered. "Something up here."

"What?" She looked beyond him. "I don't see anything."

"Shh!" Merlin trudged on and Morgana behind him. He paused near a bush and peeked around it. What in the world...

"It's going according to plan. I expect an uprising in a few days."

Morgana turned wide eyes on Merlin as he ducked back around. _Catrina_ , she mouthed. Merlin nodded.

"Good," a voice replied, deeper and male. "What will you do with the prince?"

"He's lost his father's confidence. I expect him to be disgraced by then."

"And you take his place."

"Of course."

Merlin and Morgana's eyes met again, each reflecting surprise.

"Your reward will be great."

Catrina began to laugh, not the light feminine one they'd heard before, but an eerie, guttural cackle. They didn't have time to consider what it meant when a sudden force snatched them up, sending them tumbling over the bush, crashing into muck and sprawled at the feet of Catrina and a man cloaked in a hood.

"Found them, mistress," a high pitched voice sneered. Jonas appeared around the bush.

"Who are they?" demanded the cloaked man.

"Prince's servant," Catrina spat out. "And king's ward."

Morgana wobbled to her feet and drew her sword. Merlin followed her lead, his heart careening in his chest as he brandished his own sword, the cherished gift from Arthur that hadn't seen use yet.

"Get rid of them!" the man shouted and dashed away.

Morgana made to chase him, but suddenly froze as if stone. Catrina had her hand raised, grinning wickedly. "You are no match for me."

Merlin glanced at Morgana. He held his sword aloft in his right hand and lifted his left. "Let her go."

Catrina chortled with glee and Merlin's eyes widened as her humanness melted away to reveal a lumpy, gray, heavyset being with yellow gleaming eyes. "Duel with a troll, would you? I've got more power than you dream of, boy."

Jonas snickered.

Merlin threw his sword, his gleaming eyes adding to its flight, meant to slash straight through the ugly creature before him. Only the sword never reached it. Jonas, who had shuffled around Camelot like a dying man, leaped several meters right in front of it. The sword impaled him. The troll shrieked and Merlin just had time to cast an invisible shield to counteract the troll's spell meant to whisk him away.

In the same instant, a buzzing filled the air and a tiny green man, thin, with a pointy nose, popped into existence. It hopped with incredible speed and attached to Morgana.

"No!" Merlin shouted. He let his shield drop to stop the man, but he'd disappeared. The troll howled with laughter. Morgana crumpled.

"Morgana!" Merlin rushed to her side. The ward's eyes were open, fixed, then started to move and a terrible grin spread over her face. "Boo!"

Merlin jumped back. "What did you do to her?"

"Looks like we've got a new toy," the troll answered. "And even more useful this time."

Morgana sat up. "Yes," her voice agreed. "How much more would the king listen to his ward."

"Get out of her!" Merlin demanded, raising his hand. "I'm warning you."

"He's a sorcerer," Morgana's voice commented.

"And powerful," the troll noted.

Merlin began to incant a spell, but Morgana started to choke and for a brief moment Merlin beheld the ward as herself, eyes fearful as she began to die. "Stop!"

Morgana's eyes became sly once more. "You do anything, I kill her. It doesn't take much. Suffocating takes too long. One sharp twist of her neck would do it."

Merlin's eye darted back and forth between the troll and possessed Morgana. He lowered his hand. The troll flung its hands out. "Farewell, little sorcerer."

Merlin soared into the air, then plunged back towards the ground at alarming speed. He screwed his eyes shut, anticipating solid earth, but his body kept going, slurping into the liquid muck of the bog, pushed farther and farther down, till nothing remained but darkness.


	50. The Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:** Long wait equals long chapter! Took me a while to wrestle with this one. So much happening now!

* * *

"Do you see it?"

"How can we pay it? It'll take everything we have!"

"We could talk to the king."

"Petition? He's stop answering those days ago."

"No one can get near the king anymore."

A hand reached through the gaggle of peasants, ripping away one of the parchments tacked to a wooden board. Gazes followed to the smoldering eyes of a young man. "We gather today," he proclaimed. "Spread the word to meet by noon."

The peasants darted away. Elyan scanned the announcement again, then turned to march back home. Yesterday, he had almost been persuaded by Gwaine, at least, he'd allowed himself to entertain a niggling doubt. His friend had related positive stories of the prince, and concluded with a favorite saying: _Nobility is defined by what you do and not by who you are_.

Elyan stomped through the door to his home and up to Gwaine who was stuffing his face with a meal.

"It's not too bad," Gwaine complimented Percival. Gwen had returned last night, but hadn't spoken a word and had taken off early again before first light, leaving them to fend for themselves.

Elyan tossed the parchment at Gwaine. "So look at that and tell me we're not needed."

Gwaine missed catching the paper that floated to the floor. He leaned down to retrieve it and read over it. He passed it to Percival.

"Well?" Elyan prompted.

"It's too much," Gwaine muttered.

"Was this what we were to expect?" Percival questioned.

"Doesn't it make sense?" Elyan snatched the paper back from the large man, sitting down at the table. "This tax is exorbitant. Most of them can't afford it. They'll be destitute. I've called an assembly by noon." Elyan locked eyes with Gwaine. "Are you with me?"

Gwaine looked between Elyan's resolute eyes and Percival's hopeful ones, then glanced at the parchment. He couldn't abandon the men whose bonds of friendship went deeper than any he'd ever known. He sighed. "I'm with you."

* * *

"Arthur?" Gwen anxiously poked her head into the prince's chambers. Grumbling drifted from behind the dressing screen. Her cheeks flushed when he appeared dressed only in a pair of trousers.

"Guinevere!" Arthur exclaimed.

Gwen looked down. "Sire. I...can wait."

"No. Come in."

Gwen stepped inside and peeked at Arthur moving to the wash basin. "Morning training session," he explained. "And _Merlin's_ gone so no one to take care of stuff."

"You could call another servant?"

Arthur grunted as he poured water over his head. "Too much work."

Gwen smiled at his grousing. Arthur finished washing up and rummaged in his wardrobe to grab a shirt, blue, one she had made, and slip into it. He fiddled with the ties as he approached her. "What do you need?"

Gwen's face grew grim when he focused on her. "You talked to Elyan."

Arthur smoothed his wet hair. "Yes."

"I didn't want you to."

"I was just trying to help."

"It didn't."

Arthur grew alarmed. "What did he do?"

"He didn't hurt me," Gwen assured, "but he assumes we...you..."

"What?"

"That you only want me for your...pleasure."

Arthur let out a frustrated breath. He had hoped Elyan would have kept his mouth shut at least to his sister. "I told him I would never do that."

"He accused you, too?"

Arthur nodded.

"He knows I love you. I tried to tell him it wasn't like that, but he wouldn't listen."

Arthur rubbed at his chin.

Gwen's lips pursed in frustration. "There's more. Last night he talked long with his friends and several people came by. Arthur, I think they're planning something. They're angry at the king."

"For what?" Arthur exclaimed. "For keeping them safe? For providing for them?"

"He's raised the tax, and he's collecting it today."

Arthur's brow furrowed. "Raised the tax?"

"The notices were up even before dawn. It's more than most of us can pay. Your father's breaking them, and I'm afraid Elyan and all of them, they might not be able to just let it happen."

Arthur ran a hand over his face, then stalked over to a mirror, buckling his belt around his shirt. "I'll take care of it."

* * *

Uther smiled at the woman who shared the hearth in his room. "I must thank you again for coming here."

Catrina bowed her head demurely. "It's been a delight."

"I was distressed to hear Tregor had been invaded, but much encouraged that you found escape to the house of Bourchier."

"The Lord and Lady have been supportive, but I wanted to see a face I cared for once more."

Uther tapped absentmindedly on his armrest.

"Has it been hard to live without her?"

"You know what it is to lose those closest to you."

"The pain never leaves, and you wonder if you will ever find anyone to soften memory once more."

Uther stared at her. "And what if you did?"

"What if I have?"

A knock sounded at the door. Uther called out, "Enter."

"Father."

Uther rolled his eyes at the unwelcome interruption of his errant son. "Not now, Arthur."

"I must speak with you," Arthur said, no, _demanded_.

Uther rose from his chair. "Am I not still king? Go."

Arthur strode up to him. "You've imposed a new tax."

Uther walked away from his son to a side table and poured a goblet of wine. "Yes."

"It's too high."

Catrina huffed. Arthur looked over at her, then back to his father who began to explain.

"It has come to my attention that we have been saving too little for future need. The crops haven't done as well this year, and the winter may be hard. We have also been far too lenient with delayed repayment of loans. The southern road has yet to be completed and we need the trade route, especially after Deorham's refusal."

"The crops haven't been as fruitful, but only by a little," Arthur argued. "And you know most of the loans can't be repaid in such a short time. And whether the southern road is completed or not, we're still on good terms with Nemeth."

Uther wandered back towards Catrina. "I said I didn't need your advice and I don't. The people must pay for our provision. The tax will be collected."

"Most of our people are poor and hardly get by as it is."

Uther handed his goblet to Catrina and whirled on his heel. "You don't understand, Arthur! You've never had the patience for ruling."

Arthur clenched his jaw, but then composed himself. "Forgive me if I have made you doubt me. I wish only for our people to prosper."

"As do I," Uther returned. "Trust my judgment."

"Some may resist."

Uther cast an eye to Catrina. "So I have heard."

"And if they do?"

"If the people are unable to see the purpose of it, our soldiers will make it clear."

"Father!"

"Why this plea?" The query came from Catrina, who had stood to hand Uther his goblet and embrace his arm. "Your sympathy for a peasant boy perhaps hinders your objectivity?"

"I care for our kingdom," Arthur replied stonily.

"Then you must know difficult decisions are often the best for all."

"Not in this case."

"And your judgment is further clouded by love."

Uther paused sipping his wine. "Love?" Uther questioned, eyes flitting from Catrina to his son.

Arthur's gaze was locked on their guest in shock.

"A maid has claimed his heart."

"A maid?"

Arthur turned slowly to him. " _No one_ has a claim on my heart."

"The Lady Morgana says you have loved for some time," Lady Catrina noted innocently.

"Morgana?" Arthur inquired. "She's left for several days."

"She returned," Uther reported. "This morning." Arthur stared at him in confusion and Uther sensed fear. " _Has_ a maid caught your eye?" When Arthur didn't reply, Uther spoke lowly. "Many a maid tempts, but only that."

Arthur mirrored his tone. "Unless its more than temptation."

"So it's true."

Arthur fixed his eyes on his father. "I meant to tell you of this."

Blood rushed through Uther's veins. "The survival of Camelot depends on forging an alliance through your marriage."

"But I can't marry someone I don't have feelings for."

"I forbid you to consort with a maid."

"You can't forbid my feelings any more than I can."

Uther grasped Arthur's arm and shook him. "Who is she?" Arthur bit down on his lips. Uther cast him aside, causing him to stumble backwards. "If I hear any more about you and a _maid_ , she will be executed forthwith."

Arthur backed away.

"And do not think you can see her without my knowledge. You will be watched, Arthur, I swear it."

"There is no need," Arthur answered stiffly. "I give you my solemn word that I'll never see her again." He left, the door shutting hard behind him.

Several drops of wine dripped to Uther's doublet, and he glanced down to see his hand shaking. He set the goblet down and sank into a chair. Catrina knelt in front of him, dabbing at the wine stains with her handkerchief.

"He's nothing like you," she murmured.

Uther pressed the fingers of his left hand into his eyes as wetness brimmed in them. All these years, raising him, training him, molding him for rule. Ygraine had died for nothing!

"I'm sorry," Catrina comforted, her hands caressing his cheeks.

Uther viewed her through blurry tears and when her lips met his, he embraced her, clinging to the one tenderness left to him.

* * *

Arthur stormed through Morgana's door. "You told Lady Catrina about Gwen?"

Morgana didn't look up for a moment, her hand clutching at a brush she held to her hair. The brush dropped into her lap. "Gwen?"

"She just told father I loved a maid!"

"Oh. That."

"Yes, _that_."

"I didn't mean to."

"How did it happen?" Arthur demanded.

"She was lamenting her loneliness and telling me she felt _feelings_ recently for someone and didn't know if it was appropriate and it might have slipped that I noticed something with you as well."

"It _slipped_?" Arthur threw up his hands. "Morgana, he's threatened to kill Gwen if I ever see her again!"

"I told her to keep it between us."

Arthur blew out a breath and slumped into a chair. "Now he thinks I don't care about the kingdom even more, that my judgment is clouded by _love_."

"It's Uther's judgment that's clouded."

Arthur guffawed. _You think?_

"That woman. She's had an influence on him."

"Imagine her as a stepmother," Arthur growled.

"You should do something about it."

"Like what?"

"Something..." When she didn't go on, Arthur looked up. Her head was bowed and her teeth clenched. He stood and moved over to her.

"What is it?"

"I... Nothing."

Arthur placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know you didn't mean to let him know. Why are you back anyway?"

Morgana seemed to force her gaze to him. "Back?"

"You were supposed to be gone for days. Did you find Lancelot?"

"Lancelot?"

"Lancelot. The man _you_ love."

"I found him."

"And where has he been all these months?"

"Around."

Arthur ran an eye over her strangely reluctant expression. "Is there a reason you don't want to tell me?"

"I just...can't yet."

Arthur sighed. "Then, where's Merlin?"

"Merlin?"

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"You mean the little servant?"

"Yes. The _little servant_."

"He stayed with Lancelot."

That made sense. The boy had always been close with the knight. "Will they come back together?"

"In a few days."

"Good." Arthur sighed inwardly. He needed Lancelot's advice. And maybe Merlin's, too. Ugh. There he was, relying on Merlin again. It didn't make any sense why he kept thinking he needed a servant boy's ear. "I have to find Gwen. Tell her I can't see her for awhile."

Morgana slowly stood. "I'm sorry. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have said anything."

Arthur met her pleading eyes. "What's done is done." The door shut swiftly behind him.

Morgana sank back down and glared at her own eyes in the mirror. "Stop fighting me," she ground out as someone else stared back and vowed not to make this easy.

* * *

Merlin lay suspended in a world of watery darkness. His magic had responded without his hardly thinking again, extending a protective cocoon. Trouble was, he couldn't escape it. He'd tried every thought and spell he knew of; it wouldn't budge, like his magic fought to maintain the protective barrier. He'd been forced to stare at muck for hours and panic he'd never get out. What was it like to die of lack of food and water? He didn't know, but he was _starving_.

Merlin had clutched his arms into his chest, his legs tucked up underneath him. While he wasted away in here, two creatures he had never seen before, a troll and whatever that green thing was were doing who knows what to Camelot. And Morgana had been taken by one! It was no wonder Uther hated magic considering how it always turned against him. Not that that wasn't his fault. He _made_ himself the enemy of it. His was a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Merlin's cocoon began to lift. He threw out his arms and legs, searching within himself. He wasn't doing this. The troll? Had it sensed his survival? He held his hands out, ready to defend himself as he popped out of the bog and rolled onto the shore. The cocoon burst and glorious fresh air filled his lungs. The most welcome face in the world peered down at him.

"Kilgharrah!"

"Young warlock, I must insist you be more careful and not interrupt the time I have left on this earth to do what I desire."

The complaint resolved into a twisted dragon smile and Merlin returned it. He seemed rather chipper since last Merlin had seen him. "You knew a dragonlord was in trouble?"

"If I came every time I felt you were in trouble, I would never leave you to forge your own path. It is Nero you owe my presence to. His pestering compelled me."

Nero was perched on Kilgharrah's head, chest puffed out like he took immense pride in himself. Merlin pushed to his feet, stretching his arms and legs. "Where's my father?"

"Ealdor."

Merlin grinned. "Really?"

"He's been there too often of late," Kilgharrah bemoaned. "Leaving the unborn to _my_ care."

"The eggs?"

Kilgharrah bobbed his large head. "Now, tell me why you have decided to make a bog your home."

"There's a troll," Merlin explained, "and a...something. They're trying to disgrace Arthur and take the throne."

"Trolls," Kilgharrah grumbled. "During the Purge they remained as selfish as ever they were, hiding deep in their mountains and allowing no one to cross their borders. No aid did they offer to those in need. If a troll has come, it's goal will be entirely self-serving."

"There was someone else. A man. He said they would be rewarded."

"Then the troll wants only wealth. Unsurprising. And the 'something'?"

"Like a small, green man. Pointy nose, dark hair."

"Goblin." If possible, Kilgharrah's tone became even more disparaging. "Mischief makers. Its glee will come from every chaos caused and that will be its own reward. Yet perhaps there is some satisfaction as well in the downfall of the Pendragons. Uther paid dearly for magical creatures captured and brought to him. He slaughtered goblins by the hundreds. That one survived is unexpected."

Merlin rolled his eyes. So, add magical creatures to the list of enemies that would target Arthur to destroy Uther.

"A troll and a goblin combined will not be easily defeated."

"Why?"

"I see they have already killed one."

Merlin looked over to Jonas' body, his sword still sticking out of it. "I did that." He walked over to the corpse, feeling suddenly sorry. The man hadn't been himself. And he'd killed for the third time. Merlin tugged at the blade until it came loose. "The goblin was inside him, I think."

"And where is it now?"

"Morgana."

"This bodes very ill for Camelot."

"Doesn't everything?" Merlin muttered wearily.

"If Arthur is driven from his father, I fear how he may ascend the throne. If he would fight for his right, Camelot would be forced into war, and the harmonious uniting of Albion in peril. He would follow in Uther's path."

"I need to get out of here! I've been gone for hours!" Merlin fretted.

Kilgharrah's gaze softened. "There must be times the young Pendragon stands without you."

"But, you said this was bad."

"It is. _If_ the prince chooses to fight his father. He can choose another way."

"And I have to make sure he does," Merlin declared.

"You may not be needed."

Merlin flung his hands up in the air. "I thought you said I had to protect him and make sure everything turns out all right!"

"Your part is a grand one, but it is not the only one. With or without you, Arthur Pendragon will make his own choices and on these he will rise and fall."

"Well, I can still help."

"You already have."

"I've got to go," Merlin insisted, annoyance at Kilgharrah's words of wisdom slipping into his tone. The dragon always seemed to say things that rattled his brain. He began heading towards his horse.

"You cannot show yourself to the troll or the goblin," Kilgharrah called after him. "They must not know you live."

"I already thought of that."

Kilgharrah watched Merlin's retreating back, shaking his head to dislodge the kestrel. "Go, wretched fowl." Nero flew away towards his master. Kilgharrah heaved a sigh. Sometimes he wished he'd never thrust such burdens on such a young one's back. Despite his apparent placidity, he'd become quite fond of the sorcerer called Merlin.

* * *

"They're here! They're already taking it!"

Gwaine turned from Elyan's meeting, grown more numerous than he expected, to set his gaze on the messenger. He'd sided with his friends, but anxiety gnawed at him. This felt way too familiar—a king abusing his power and his decent son fighting a tide. Arthur Pendragon's name and presence had been absent this call for more taxation.

"We stand now!" Elyan declared, rising from his seat. He held out his hands to Gwaine and Percival. Percival grasped his wrist and Gwaine slowly stood, doing the same. He had no choice really. They were needed no matter his conflicted feelings.

The three men marched down the street, the posse they'd gathered following in their wake. People watched them pass, some closing their doors, sensing no good to come, others leaving their shelters to join them. Shouting sounded not far ahead, a man arguing with a tax collector.

"It's all I have!"

"The king demands his share."

"I can't live without _something_!"

"Step back from him!" Elyan commanded, unsheathing his sword.

The tax collector's angry expression faded to fear when he saw Elyan and next to him Gwaine and Percival, also brandishing swords. The two soldiers behind the collector responded in kind, but looked taken aback by the mob behind the three men.

The tax collector seemed to weigh his options, then dropped the coin pouch into the man's hands and backed off. One of the soldiers spoke. "Go home, boy. You don't want to stir up trouble for yourself."

"It's the king that's brought the trouble!" Elyan shouted. Murmuring voices behind him agreed. "He will listen to us or be removed."

"It's your head," the soldier said. He held up his sword. Elyan dove forward, supported by Gwaine and Percival. It took little time to subdue and truss up the two soldiers. The crowd moved on towards the citadel, growing each step along the way.

* * *

When Arthur had informed Gwen they couldn't be seen together for some time, she hadn't cried or despaired, but he read in her eyes betrayal at Morgana's broken confidence. He assured her it was a simple mistake, and tried not to entertain her skeptical look. Morgana wouldn't have ever turned on them purposefully. He retreated back to his room, distressed, flopping onto his bed, hating the downward spiral of his life.

He'd once had his father's trust, if not always his praise. _I played the game_. Do as your told. Obey and don't question. And if he'd disagreed? His thoughts turned to Ealdor, lying to get there, because he could never share what truly mattered to him.

A wide gulf had existed between himself and his father as long as he could remember, and he'd vainly endeavored to build a bridge across it. If he performed enough, said enough, gained enough respect, perhaps he could draw near the man who controlled his life. And then Merlin had happened and Guinevere, and everything threw his perception into question.

Arthur ran both hands through his hair. And the cave. Always that vision haunting and taunting, magnifying his father's flaws till they chafed painfully in the recesses of his mind.

Arthur jumped instinctively to his feet when warning bells began to peal. What now? He grabbed his sword, sliding it onto his belt as he ran down the hall. He might meet his father, be ordered away. _He can't deny me my right of birth!_ He'd caused it and he'd have to deal with it.

Instead of his father, it was Leon who came rushing down the hall. "Arthur!"

"Leon. What's happening?"

"The people, they're coming here, ready for a fight. Your father's collectors were seeking the tax."

Arthur scowled. Exactly what he had warned of.

"Your father will set the guard on them, call in the knights."

"I'll meet them. You stay here." Arthur marched away but steps fell in next to him. "Leon―"

"My loyalty is yours, my lord."

Arthur swallowed and his eyes brimmed wetly at the declaration. He had the respect of at least one man he admired.

Arthur reached the gate just as the crowd began to funnel through. Footfalls pounded behind him. "Stop!" His cry caused hesitation from all parties, the soldiers behind him and the crowd in front of him. He met the eyes of the peasants and spied Gwen's brother at the front along with the man Merlin called Gwaine. Who was beginning to like him, right? He let his gaze fall longer on this man, praying Merlin hadn't been mistaken. "I implore you, do not go any farther!"

The man named Gwaine didn't move, but Gwen's brother stepped forward. "The king will acknowledge us and hear or we will have his head!"

"And you think you can take it?" Arthur called out loudly for all to hear. He eyed the crowd. "You have families, wives, children. What you start here could be the death of them!"

"Sometimes that's what it takes!" Elyan yelled, but several in the crowd had looked to each other in doubt.

Gwaine moved to his friend. "Elyan. He's right."

Elyan shrugged off Gwaine's hand at his shoulder, defiantly staring down the prince. "Move out of our way."

"I can't let you through," Arthur answered. "No one must die here today." More uncertainty in the crowd.

"But we can't pay the tax!" someone shouted. Others joined in.

Arthur hated that what they said was true, and he didn't have his father's good graces to suggest he plead for them. "You will have your coin back." Murmurs of surprise spread throughout the mob. "Whatever has been taken will be returned." Heaven help him! His father would have _his_ head for this.

Arthur turned to Leon. "This will be against my father. You don't have to do it."

"I will carry out your desire, sire."

Arthur nodded grimly. Leon gestured for a couple knights to join him. Their lack of hesitation bolstered Arthur's confidence. "Please leave with Sir Leon. He will return your coin."

The crowd began to disperse, moving back into the lane after the knight.

"Wait!" Elyan cried out.

Arthur grabbed his arm and pulled him close, whispering harshly. "If you want Guinevere to suffer for this, then keep speaking."

"You're threatening her?"

"No. My father would. _Think_ about this."

Gwaine and Percival had lingered at their friend's side. Arthur turned back to the castle, sure word would be winging its way to his father about this. Elyan screamed and he whirled around to see the young man rushing him, but the big man next to him was on him in seconds, crushing him around the chest and hauling him backwards.

Several soldiers coming through the gates surrounded the three men. "It's them!"

"They didn't hurt me!" Arthur insisted. "Let them go!"

"They prevented us from taking the tax. Attacked us," a soldier explained.

Arthur's stomach dropped. "Did you?" he asked dejectedly. They didn't reply, and Arthur followed the soldiers who dragged them up the steps into the citadel.

* * *

Uther paced in agitation. "How long does it take for a report?"

"It might be nothing serious," Catrina commented calmly.

"With alarm bells?" Uther returned. The door swung open. Finally, some news.

Several soldiers marched inside with three men who were cast at his feet. Uther waved a hand at them. "Who are they? What have they done?"

"They interfered in the collection of the tax and attacked your knights."

"We only did what was right," one protested.

Uther stepped in front of him. "Your _king_ decides what is right."

Elyan opened his mouth but had barely begun to speak when another voice loudly covered his. "Release them."

Uther glanced up, shock written across his face as Arthur strode in and took up position in front of the men.

"They have done nothing I myself have not done."

"What do you mean?" Uther inquired warily.

"I've ordered the coin returned. The tax is unfair. You cannot take it."

Uther's face went bright red and his eyes snapped to the soldiers. "Take them to the dungeon."

"I said..."

"Do not speak!" Uther roared.

Arthur fell silent. The men were hustled out of the room.

"On your knees."

"Father."

"You will show me respect in deed if not in word!"

Arthur slowly sank in submission before him.

"What have you done?"

Arthur stared straight ahead. "A crowd meant to attack the Citadel."

"And you stopped them by subverting my commands?"

"They are our people. We have had their their goodwill. You forsake that by making unreasonable demands."

"Is it so unreasonable for a king to expect his subjects to obey him?" Catrina spoke up. Arthur didn't even give her the decency of a glance.

"They'll starve," he asserted quietly.

"I have been assured they will not," Uther retorted.

"Then you have been misinformed."

Uther crouched down and grasped Arthur's chin, forcing their eyes to meet. " _You_ have been misinformed. You have not been in the meetings. You have a child's grasp of the situation and the law."

Arthur let his gaze fall to his lap when his chin was released.

"The people are not your _friends_ , Arthur, they are your subjects. Your servant and a maid have misdirected your loyalties." Uther gestured to the guards at the door. "Take him to the dungeon."

As Arthur was taken away, Uther put a hand to a column and leaned into it. That it had come to this...

"You did the right thing," the kind voice of Catrina encouraged at his elbow. She laid a hand over his on the column. "He is a threat to your rule."

"I never thought Arthur...not him."

"You recall how you came to the throne?"

Uther closed his eyes. A tyrant of a king. An unhappy people. Himself a knight with honor and respect and the one they turned to. His violent takeover, coming to an end in this very room.

"You should execute him before it gets that far."

Uther's eyes opened and he pulled his hand away from her. "No."

"The people must know your retribution is swift."

"I will not kill him."

"Then disinherit him. Remove his power."

Uther moved away from her. Always threats to his rule, everywhere he turned. He marched to the door.

"Where are you going?"

He didn't answer, hearing only a prophecy in the back of his mind, a warning that his kingdom was doomed to end.

* * *

The soldiers directing Arthur to the dungeon had enough sympathy to guide him lightly. A door was wrenched open, and he was allowed to walk inside under his own power. The door locked behind him, and he passed his gaze over the three leaders of the mob in the cell next door. The one called Gwaine waved casually. Arthur huffed and moved to the pallet against the wall, settling down heavily.

"I see you didn't escape your father either," Elyan jeered. "Thought your father had the best for his people in mind."

Arthur didn't answer, unsure what to think anymore. His father probably still thought he was doing his best for his people. He leaned his head against the wall.

"Shut up, Elyan," another voice drawled. "He saved lives. At least give him some credit."

Arthur turned his head.

"I'm Gwaine."

"My servant told me."

"He's a good kid, your Merlin."

Arthur let his gaze roam to the dark dungeon hallway. _I'm glad he's not here_. Who knew what his father would do to anyone close to him now. Part of him wanted to rage, but confusion and despair was winning out, sending him plummeting into apathy. Nothing much mattered now. He had gone too far for forgiveness.

"We could get you out of here," Gwaine continued.

Arthur laughed in spite of the dire moment.

"Gwaine!" Elyan reprimanded.

"What? We could try anyway."

"You wouldn't make it down the hall," Arthur pointed out.

"Try us." The new voice caused Arthur to look back at them again. Gwaine had pressed himself up against the bars separating the cells. Elyan was standing, hard eyes on him. The deep voice belonged to the big man propped against the far wall. "Percival," he offered his name.

"You think I want you to injure, possibly kill guards simply obeying their king?"

Percival lowered his eyes. Gwaine raised his eyebrows and nodded once, seeing his point. Elyan growled in his throat.

"Is this all about your sister?" Arthur exclaimed. "Yes. I love her. And I swear on my mother's soul, I have never, ever defiled her. I have nothing but respect for her."

"It's more than Gwen," Elyan replied. He pulled up his sleeves, exposing his long scars. Arthur stared at them. "Nobles like you did this. Too threatened with the truth. You think because you're born into power you can do what you like."

Arthur rubbed at his lips. He'd been about to reply he wasn't like that, but it occurred to him that maybe he had been sometimes. Nothing had been out of his grasp, except perhaps his father's unconditional love.

"Percival's entire family was killed in a noble's raid. And Gwaine..."

"Your father's a king," Arthur interrupted, eyes passing to the scruffy chinned man studying him through the bars. "Merlin told me your mother was his..."

"Plaything," Gwaine finished for him.

"My father's never done that," Arthur whispered.

"But he's done enough," Elyan argued.

Gwaine stood and stepped towards Elyan. "Leave him be."

"Why, Gwaine? Because you feel sorry his ass is in here, too?"

"Because he's obviously put himself in harm's way for us!"

"This? It's a slap on the wrist. He'll be out of here way before us."

Arthur's forehead dropped to his knees as they continued to argue and the big man's voice joined in. He'd been in the dungeon before. A slap on the wrist was accurate, the punishment scaring him into continued compliance. But that had been a very long time ago when he was far younger and hadn't publicly gone against his father's orders. What would he do with him?

Heavy steps came from the hall. Arthur glanced up, the men next door stopped talking. Uther passed by, but didn't even glance his way. Arthur rose, stepping to the cell door, trying to ascertain where the man he had once idolized was going.

* * *

Uther twisted a torch from the wall when he reached the long rocky corridor. He managed several breaths through increasing fear. He had avoided this place ever since the dragonlord's capture. It was a risk even now. The creature could be lying in wait.

Uther shuffled lightly along the path, trying to make as little noise as possible. He came to the exit, stalled, steadied himself, then leaped onto the ledge, torch held aloft. His eye sought the chain, but cast upon a melted mass of metal. His chest constricted. He glanced up. "Are you here?" he yelled to the ceiling.

Drops of water pinging into puddles was the only response. He fell to his knees. The dragon had escaped. When? How? He should have checked! Should have been vigilant!

It had to be dead. It must be. It was the only explanation. He closed his eyes, the ghost of a Druid seer clawing at him, held back by guards, screeching. _You have been weighed, Uther Pendragon, and found wanting! Your doom is foretold. When the last dragon has met its end, so will come the end of your reign!_

Uther pressed his left hand over his eyes. He hadn't thought Ygraine would die to give him an heir, and he hadn't thought that heir would lead to the death of his kingdom. Tears dripped down his cheeks. How cruel his fate, his son a tool in his own destruction.

He stood, trembling. His jaw clenched, Catrina's advice echoing in his ears, but he could never kill his son, refused to give him up. He could fight fate. Turn Arthur around before it was too late. Even if his son would not understand until later.

He stumbled back towards the tunnel, heart breaking at what he knew he must do.

* * *

Arthur saw his father coming back down the corridor. He stared vainly, hoping for a look, for understanding, maybe just a moment of hearing him explain himself, but Uther strode past as if he didn't exist. He felt as if his rib cage folded in on his heart. He had become nothing.

His father's muffled voice filtered down the hall as he discussed with some guards. Then it quieted and two of them appeared at his cell door. Arthur stood back as they unlocked it, then entered, one in front of him, one behind, and ordered him to follow. They marched deeper into the dungeon. Arthur craned his neck back for a glance of his father, but he was gone.

* * *

Gwaine crossed an arm over the cell door, watching Arthur be taken away. "What's wrong with you, Elyan?" he mumbled.

"Gwaine," Elyan chastised exasperatedly.

"You're too full of hate." Gwaine glanced at Percival who had spoken. "It's not justice anymore. It's revenge."

Elyan slid down the bars to the left, arms around his knees.

"They hurt you," Percival continued. "But it wasn't this man."

"It wasn't Arthur Pendragon," Gwaine whispered. A chill shuddered down his spine at the unmistakable sound of a whip biting flesh. His eyes flicked to Percvial, then Elyan, who turned guiltily away. Gwaine concentrated on the hall as a strained cry pierced muted silence. "You hear that, Elyan?" he spoke softly. " _That's_ the sound of nobility."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** A few bits of the dialogue in this section come from the show.


	51. Once Bitten

Gaius turned from a table littered with various bottles and pouches. He'd brought more than he needed, afraid he might forget something and have to return to his own chambers, drawing out the treatment. He clasped a small vial between index finger and thumb, warring with himself. The poultices had been prepared, but he'd been ordered to do nothing else, even though every bit of his nature urged him to disobey. He let go the vial, leaving the pain remedy be. Tending the wounds, yes, but no relief. _This is a lesson_ , he'd been told, _it is not to be alleviated._

Gaius shuffled back over to the bed where his patient lay on his stomach, head turned away. He sat gingerly on the edge so as not to jostle him too much. He ran an eye over the wounds, stripes in various lengths, inflamed and crossing in places. He had dabbed at the patches of broken skin until the bleeding had been stemmed. His patient hadn't made a sound, stuffing a knuckle into his mouth to prevent any noise, always the boy trying to be valiant.

"I'm going to apply the poultices now," he cautioned softly.

Arthur only nodded, and Gaius leaned over to see his eyes screwed shut. He lightly laid the first across the prince's shoulders. Arthur tensed, arching slightly. Gaius fought to restrain the wrath of his heart as he continued to arrange the poultices. Memory awoke, evoking a time a child Arthur had been punished in front of the court. He didn't recall the offense, but hadn't forgotten a guard wielding a rod striking the lad several times. Uther had betrayed not a shred of sympathy, and although Gaius had maintained his poised exterior, he'd felt for the boy who took the punishment stoically, even though his reddened cheeks indicated his embarrassment.

Gaius situated the last of the poultices just above Arthur's hips. He knew he shouldn't be so intimate with the prince, but found he didn't care, reaching out to rest his hand for a moment on the golden head, hoping the gesture conveyed comfort. "A wrapping must bind these." Arthur didn't acknowledge the statement, simply pushed himself up onto his elbows, then palms. A sharp hiss escaped his lips, his eyes opening as his teeth clenched, and Gaius could tell just like all those years ago, he was resisting displaying any pain in his blue depths.

Gaius' hands were as gentle and sure as he could make them as he wound a strip of linen around the prince to hold the poultices in place. "Done," he announced when he tied off the cloth. Arthur sank into his mattress. Gaius saw only a little boy, hurt by a demanding father who didn't seem to understand the effect he had. For weeks after the thrashing in court, he'd observed Arthur laboring to earn his father's good graces, taking on extra tasks to gain acceptance once again. What would it take this time?

Gaius stood, plodding back to the table, rinsing his hands in the water basin, drying them, then collecting his medicines and herbs, securing them in his bag. He glanced back at the prince, reluctant to leave him alone, wanting to say something to make it better than it was. When he couldn't think of anything, he sighed, returning the basin to its stand and slinging his bag over his shoulder. He exited the doors and was pulled up short when he beheld his king pacing the hall. Their eyes met, and Uther darted to his side.

"How is he?"

Gaius spoke stiffly. "As well as can be expected." Which wasn't saying very much.

Uther nodded as if this were a good thing.

"If you would consent to a sleeping draft—"

"No."

Gaius pursed his lips, and the storm that had been brewing inside overran his passivity. He clutched Uther's elbow and directed him away from the two guards maintaining their posts in front of the chamber door.

"Is infection already setting in?" Uther asked worriedly, misreading Gaius' desire for privacy.

"Not that I can tell, but it's too early." Gaius pierced his king with a hard glare. "You have known me almost all your life, my lord, and I trust this means I may speak freely now without repercussion."

"Gaius," Uther spoke, the tone a warning, but Gaius ignored it.

"He is your _son_ , and you treat him as a common criminal! He did nothing but what he believed to be safeguarding you and the kingdom. He is loyal and trustworthy to you. He always has been!"

Uther's face hardened further. "He is not _your_ son. You have never had a son, and you cannot comprehend the responsibility to make him what he should be."

Gaius swallowed his retort. He wanted to shout that he understood very well with Merlin under his care, a boy he considered a son more than an assistant by now, one he never in a million years would have flogged or beaten with a rod, no matter what he had done. "I say these things, my lord, so you remember and do not lose the son you paid dearly for."

Uther raised himself to his full height. "Watch your tongue, physician. Go."

Gaius bowed his head. He thought for a moment it would be appropriate to apologize for speaking out of turn, but his mouth clamped shut. He wasn't sorry in the least as he pulled away, leaving Uther Pendragon to face his son alone.

* * *

Uther stewed for a couple minutes before entering his son's chamber. What had Gaius expected him to do? Praise Arthur for disparaging the king's edicts and spurning his duty as crown prince? What he had done could be considered treason!

Uther battled with his nerves, thinking perhaps not to visit his boy at all, but the guards might perceive his reluctance and attribute it as weakness. He waved at them, and they stood aside as he entered the chamber. Arthur lay on his side, facing away from the door, freshly bandaged, yet as he approached Uther caught a short red line peeping out from underneath the wrapping, right below the base of his son's neck. He tightened his jaw. This had to be done.

Uther moved to the other side of the bed within Arthur's field of vision. His son's eyes shifted to him for a moment, then back to the wall, going blank.

"Gaius says you do well."

Arthur didn't reply.

Uther reminded himself he hadn't expected salutations and understanding, not yet. "You left me no choice," he admonished. "You subverted my rule in front of the people. There was a suggestion of execution for your conduct." He didn't mention it came from Catrina instead of the council, not wanting to lessen the weight of the possibility.

"They could have killed you." Arthur's voice was low, but Uther heard defiance regardless.

"My knights would have dealt with them."

"And killed our people?"

"Their deaths would have been on their own hands."

"But..."

"This is not a discussion," Uther spoke roughly. "You will listen."

Arthur closed his eyes.

"Whatever has possessed you to turn against me will cease. You will not leave this room without my express permission. You will receive a tutor who will remind you of your place, and you will not be granted your freedom until I am satisfied you embrace it once more. Do I make myself clear?" No response. "Is this clear?"

Arthur's eyes snapped open to him. "It's clear."

"This is for your own good, Arthur," Uther grumbled, turning on his heel towards the door.

"Father."

Uther halted, looking back, surprised to behold Arthur standing and facing him. He tried not to notice his lack of color, nor the grimace of pain that flickered at the corners of his mouth.

"I will accept instruction as you require, but I plead that the three men arrested along with me not be executed. If the people know I have been punished, that will be enough?"

"You do not get to decide their fate."

"Please―"

"Ask me no favors." Uther jerked open the door and strode away as fast as his feet could carry him.

* * *

Gaius felt the age of his bones on the walk back to his chambers. Once he had taken great pride in serving Uther Pendragon, chosen out of all physicians to live and work in the citadel. Uther had been strict, yes, but fair, inspiring loyalty in his servants. When Ygraine had perished and the Purge had begun, he had stayed, sympathetic to the king's pain and thinking naively the king would recover, his anger dissolve into something more reasonable. Even so, if he were honest, he had to admit his choice had also concerned survival―his proximity to the king meant less chance of his own death after his renunciation of magic.

But Uther had not changed and Gaius went silent. He helped when able, hiding and rescuing the accused, but not nearly as much as he should have. Every execution stabbed him to the soul, and still he remained. Had it been only survival? Partly, but also because a blond headed boy, so innocent and eager in the midst of such darkness, hinted at a spark of what might come, the kingdom passing into hands better than his father's.

As he climbed the spiral steps to the hallway leading to his chambers, Gaius confessed his complacency, serving and saying little as that blond boy took his father's path to gain his pleasure. Might he have spoken up if nothing had changed? _Perhaps... Maybe ... No._ That was the truth. His hand wouldn't have turned the prince's course. That honor belonged to a raven headed child who didn't see what the prince was but who he could become, and instead of simply hoping for it, made it happen without even knowing exactly what he was doing.

Gaius entered his chambers and set his bag down on a table, carefully lifting the lid. He began to remove the bottles and pouches, meaning to return them to their proper places on his shelves, when he heard rustling and a couple steps. His attention fell on Merlin's room. The door was closed, but a shadow passed the gap underneath. Gaius swiped his hefty walking stick from a corner. He crept across the room, up the steps, gripped the door handle, and swung it open quickly, stick lifted in defense.

"Merlin!" Gaius exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

Merlin, who had been settling onto the bed, jumped up. "There's a troll and a goblin and they're trying to get rid of Arthur somehow, but maybe not kill him, just make him go against the king, or something like that, and there's this man that is going to give them a reward if they do it!"

Gaius followed the dizzying recital, but didn't quite comprehend it. He lowered the walking stick. "Morgana said you were with Lancelot and wouldn't return for a few days."

"Oh, yeah, the goblin's inside Morgana, too."

Gaius massaged his temple and sank to the bed. "Sit, my boy, and start from the beginning, and slowly."

Merlin sat, one leg off the bed, the other drawn up under him. He related everything that had happened on his short excursion with Morgana. Gaius' expression reflected astonishment, then anger, then contemplation.

"So Uther has been set upon by a troll," the physician murmured. Could that explain his actions? Was Uther perhaps not so much to blame?

"Yeah, I was thinking this might help me figure out what to do." Merlin hefted a large tome off the bed, transferring it to his lap. It was the book Morgana had gifted him containing tales of magical creatures. "The grimoire was no help, I mean, it doesn't mention any creatures."

"I'm afraid my knowledge is limited as well," Gaius affirmed. "I do know troll magic is consistent with their nature, designed to keep them hidden. They can imitate forms, but usually those of the natural world―rocks, trees, and such. I've never heard of one taking the figure of a person."

"And the goblin?"

"Uther did kill them, as the dragon told you, and I am as surprised as he one has survived anywhere in Camelot, though he may have been brought in from another realm. My understanding was goblins are incredibly difficult to catch, and this is why Uther provided such large sums for those retrieved and brought to him."

"I remember writing about them both when Morgana made me do copywork," Merlin asserted. "Here!" He pointed with one finger to an unembellished passage. Gaius read along with him, a story of a troll that wouldn't let anyone cross a bridge as he had decided to take up residence under it. Merlin grew fervent when he read the last part of the story. "'And the music weaved its strains of peace, and the troll was forced to submit itself to the will of the bailiff, who demanded it leave and never return!' Music?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, but, Merlin, this is just a tale."

Merlin grinned at the physician. "But trolls _do_ exist."

"Yes, but..."

Merlin was already flipping through the grimoire he'd hauled out of its hiding place underneath floorboards next to his bed. He'd read it through several times, having finally translated all the spells. "This one."

Gaius peered at the flowing script. The spell was rather intricate and contained a series of instructions on the music to accompany it. "And do you see this part?" Merlin scrutinized the sentence Gaius had indicated: _Do not attempt this spell unless proficient in music study or the object of it may become aware and leave a caster vulnerable._

Merlin glanced at the lute in the corner. "Lancelot left before he could teach me." He had messed with the instrument several times, but couldn't play even a simple song. He slumped for a moment, then shot up again. "What if I enchanted it to play the song?"

"Is that even possible?"

"I could try."

"It might be best if I just approach the king and inform him about the troll."

"You think he'd believe you?"

Gaius stared at him for some time, imagining going to Uther and telling him Catrina was a troll and his ward had been overtaken by a goblin. He could hear the king laughing now and chastising him for creating nonsense to explain his actions regarding his son. "I'm afraid Uther and I are at odds currently."

Merlin's brow creased.

Gaius put a kind hand on the boy's shoulder. "While you have been gone, Uther imposed a tax. Most of the townspeople were unable to pay it, and quite a number of them came to the citadel with designs to attack the king."

"Is Arthur all right?" Merlin blurted out.

"He was not hurt in the attempt, in fact, he prevented it by promising the people's money would be returned." Merlin smiled broadly, proudly, and Gaius hated to speak on. "But Uther was furious his commands weren't followed. He had Arthur flogged."

Merlin's face fell, and he shook his head disbelievingly, blanching. "How is he?" he whispered hoarsely.

"I just came from him. He will heal, but it wasn't done lightly."

Anger flashed across Merlin's face and he stood. "How could Uther do that?"

"He thinks he's saving Arthur from himself."

"What? That's ridiculous!" Merlin bolted towards the door. "I have to see him."

Gaius rose to catch the boy by his upper arm. "And let the troll know you live? You cannot reveal your presence until it, and the goblin, have been exposed. Best if we turn our time to your books and figure out a way to do that."

Merlin hesitated at the door, kicked it with his right foot, and stomped back over to the bed, hands angrily searching for any more knowledge about the creatures that had thrown Camelot into chaos.

* * *

Gwen banished tears as she approached the kitchens. She'd already taken a private moment in the gardens when the news had reached her, traveling as it often did between guards and the castle staff. Arthur had stopped an uprising...and been whipped for it. They all knew the king to be a hard man, but none had expected him to ever let his son be flogged, much less order it. Gwen had stuttered through her shock, inquiring farther and discovering three men had also been arrested, and by the description, one of them had to be Elyan.

She'd rushed to the hall to Arthur's rooms and found two guards stationed outside his door. Knowing she wouldn't be allowed to see him, she made her to way to the dungeon, but was immediately turned away. Neither of the men she cared for could receive her attentions. Her heart swirled with grief and anger, the one for Arthur and Elyan, the other for Uther and Elyan. Her brother had earned both.

Gwen trudged into the stifling kitchen, hot with ovens and warm bodies moving every which way as they prepared meals for the numerous occupants of the castle. She stepped up to the counter and procured a clean plate to arrange food for Morgana, but a pudgy hand reached out and took the plate from her. She looked up to see the cook eying her meaningfully.

"Not had time to send this up yet," Audrey explained, passing her another plate with simple porridge, a crust of bread, and an apple.

Gwen's dark brows met. "I need food for Morgana."

"If you don't mind. Need someone to take that to the prince's chamber."

Gwen stared into the woman's eyes as if seeing her for the first time―understanding, compassion, encouragement. "I will."

Audrey nodded once succinctly and turned back to her preparations. Gwen's heart lightened a smidgen at the simple act of kindness. She retraced a path back to Arthur's rooms, tremulous, uncertain how the guards would react to her presence. As far as she knew, Uther wasn't aware _she_ was the maid Arthur had given his heart to, but she couldn't be sure.

One of the guards turned his head to her when she stopped before the doors. "Food sent up for the prince." The guard didn't question, immediately opening the door for her. He must have been told to expect a meal. The door closed and her eyes wandered over the still form in the bed, laying face down and swathed in a bandage. She moved closer. Arthur's eyes were closed.

"Arthur?" He didn't respond, and she noted how deeply he breathed. She felt relief to know he had escaped the pain for awhile, both physical and mental. She knelt on the floor, depositing the plate next to her. "You're such a good man," she whispered. "I love you with all my heart."

He moved then, shifting, gasping sharply as he began to roll onto his back. She stood, tugging at his wrist to pull him back the other way. His eyelids fluttered open and his eyes focused on her. "Gwen." He made to push up, but she protested.

"Please, don't. Lay still."

He did as she asked and she knelt back down to bring their gazes level.

"I brought you something to eat. It's not much really. I'm sorry."

He huffed a laugh. "You can't be sorry for something my father's ordered."

"I guess not." She lifted her hand and stroked his cheek. "I am, though."

Arthur brought his hand up to cover hers and link their fingers. "You shouldn't be here."

"Cook sent me up with your meal. It's okay I'm here, but I can't be long."

Arthur curled his fingers into her palm as if he didn't want to let her go.

"Word's traveled. Everyone's talking and most take your side, though, of course, they can't say that very loudly."

Arthur looked alarmed. "It's dangerous. They should keep quiet."

"Arthur, Elyan..." She stumbled over her question. "It's his fault, isn't it?"

"It might have happened without him," he tried to assure.

"Do you think...he'll be killed?"

"I asked my father not to."

She read, however, his ambiguity. "Thank you."

"You should go. The guards will wonder."

Gwen stood, picking up the plate. Arthur propped up on his side, and she set the plate on the bed. She leaned down quickly to kiss his cheek, then darted away, afraid if she stayed any longer she'd weep and that would garner attention neither of them needed.

She dashed away, back to the kitchens, gathering food for Morgana, trying to lose herself in mundane tasks. She strode with reluctance to the other side of the citadel. She hadn't talked to Morgana since the ward had supposedly inadvertently exposed her relationship with the crown prince. They were close, and she knew Morgana very well. The ward was deliberate and intentional, never an idle chatterer.

Gwen paused at the servant's entrance when she heard voices in discussion. Was that Catrina? She pushed the door ajar carefully to peer in. The guest was marching up and down the room.

"I thought this would be enough for him to at the very least disinherit the prince."

Gwen tilted her head in confusion as Morgana responded, out of sight, but by the direction of her voice, near the bed.

"Your persuasion isn't as good as you claimed, then." Mocking humor laced the tone.

"And what have you accomplished?"

"Discovering the princeling has fallen under the spell of love."

Catrina snorted. "We've used that. What else?"

"Well, I did have an idea."

"Spit it out, then!"

"Marriage between you and the king."

"You think the relationship strong enough?"

"That's up to you. How do you read the king?"

"He likes me. Loves me." There was a cackle from both women. "I think with a little hinting, yes, I can move him that way."

"Then the prince can have an 'accident' and that would leave you in direct line for the throne."

"Yes. Of course. Yes!" Glee in Catrina's voice, more laughter from Morgana. "Then reward." Catrina moved out of view towards the main door, and Gwen heard it open and shut.

Gwen stood frozen for a moment. What she had just heard was treason! She pushed the door open farther, stumbling in.

"What took you so long! I'm starving!"

"I'm...sorry." She set the tray down on the table. Morgana pushed past her, sitting down and digging into the meal. "Do you...need anything else?"

"No."

Gwen stared for a couple more seconds before Morgana looked up and waved her away. "Out!" She moved back to the door, left, closed it, and leaned against. That was not her mistress. It couldn't be. Something had gone very wrong.

* * *

Uther didn't rise when the three men who had been arrested were brought in by the guards to kneel before him, affording them no dignity. He stared at each of them in turn. He knew none. He had inquired and discovered they were strangers who had appeared a few days ago. Outsiders, come to meddle in his capital.

"You have manipulated my subjects to disobey the law and laid hands on my honored knights. Your lives are forfeit." The men glanced at each other and the youngest looked as if he might speak, but Uther shot him a glare. "However, I am not without mercy. You are exiled from this kingdom. You will be escorted to the border." He leaned forward. "And if you _ever_ return, your deaths will be imminent." He waved a hand to the guards, who hauled the men up and towards the door, but one struggled to turn.

"My lord, your majesty!"

Uther scanned the man with the scruffy chin and long hair, evidence of laziness in his estimation. "You have no permission to speak."

"I only want to know of the prince. What will happen to him?"

" _He_ is none of your concern. Get them out of my sight!"

As the doors opened and closed, a hand squeezed his arm. "This has been so trying for you. I am sorry."

Uther turned to the high backed chair next to his, occupied by Catrina. He noted members of the court raising eyebrows, but didn't care. He grasped her hand as he spoke. "Court is dismissed."

They left quickly and when he was alone, Catrina stood and crouched in front of him. "Your kingdom has a dutiful king, and you have its obedience. I admire your strength and resolve."

Uther ran a palm over his eyes. "If only my son did as well."

"Some day he might understand. I think...if he'd had a mother's encouragement, observed his mother's awe of his father... Well, I don't want to hurt you by speaking more of this."

Uther scanned her face, hints of wrinkles, but still soft with curves. He had been so lonely for so long. How different things would have been with Ygraine to support him and guide Arthur.

"I just want you to know, you have my full confidence and ear whenever you need it." Catrina rose, but before she could leave he pulled her back and stood himself.

"I need...someone who knows me, who understands court intrigue and the complexities of a kingdom, who can rule beside me, secure the kingdom. I know your visit was intended to be temporary and our acquaintance only recently renewed, but perhaps the past can suffice for the brevity of a courtship."

"Courtship?"

"I may be too forward, but would you consent...to be my wife?"

"Marriage?"

Uther dropped her hands. "I shouldn't have. Forgive me."

Catrina's hands pressed into his cheeks. "It would be my honor and pleasure and more than I could ever hope for in this life."

* * *

Night had just fallen and Merlin had been waiting. He knew the rounds of the guards like the back of his hand. The last of the guard turned a corner. He sprinted to a stone wall, wiping sweaty palms on his trousers. He'd done this before, but never this high. Would he reach his destination or come crashing back down and give Gaius reason to set a bone and lecture him to high heaven?

It didn't matter. He'd try it anyway. He stared up at the window's tiny ledge and before he could think much, zoomed upwards. He just caught the ledge before gravity regained its hold. He willed his legs to float horizontally behind him and whispered a spell. The inner latch clicked. He pushed the window open and hauled himself through the opening, crouching down silently, flinging his gaze around the room.

Arthur was in bed. He tiptoed towards the prince, but a demanding voice boomed from the hallway, "I want to see him." The door began to open, and Merlin dove forwards, just managing to slide under the bed before heavy footsteps sounded. They stopped near his hiding place and he held his breath.

"He sleeps, sire," a guard spoke from the door.

"I see that." The king's voice grew quiet, a barely heard murmur. "Someday, you'll understand everything I do is for you."

"Should I wake him, my lord?" the guard asked.

"No." The footsteps moved away. "He will hear what he needs to soon enough." The door closed again.

Merlin let out his pent up breath and squirmed underneath the bed to the side Arthur lay on. He heard mumbling. Arthur was actually awake then or on the verge of waking anyway. Merlin didn't move, wary of someone else intruding. He settled for whispering.

"Arthur...Arthur."

A mumble, a whimper.

"Arthur?"

"Who..."

"Arthur!"

He heard a crash and a bang and the drawing of a sword. "Who's there?"

Merlin pushed out from under the bed to find Arthur standing and brandishing his sword. "Me!"

"Merlin! What are you...Where's Lancelot?" His eyes were wide.

"Sorry I scared you," Merlin apologized as he grasped the edge of the bed and pulled to a stand.

Arthur sheathed his sword in its scabbard laying on a side table. He shook his head for a moment, then grasped Merlin by the shoulders. "Merlin." His voice almost broke.

"Arthur, I...you should sit."

Arthur took a step, then faltered to his knees.

Merlin gripped his upper arm. "I shouldn't have surprised you like that."

"No. I'm all right. Here." He let Merlin aid him and directed the youth to the flickering hearth. "Just sit with me."

Arthur didn't take a chair, instead slumping down next to one on the bear rug, leaning a shoulder against its leg. Merlin took in the bandages and the glimmer of hurt in the prince's eyes. "Gaius told me. I should have been here."

"And what could you have done? Petitioned my father?" He laughed grimly.

"Maybe...I don't know. Something."

Arthur looked over at him wryly. "I have a feeling I know."

"What?"

"Interfered. Probably offered to take the blows for me."

Merlin sensed the joke, but didn't smile, and Arthur stared, flabbergasted.

"You would. Heavens, Merlin, I would never have let you do that."

Merlin dug into a pocket. "I brought this. Gaius said your father wouldn't let you have any."

Arthur accepted the small glass bottle, turning it over in his hands, watching its amber liquid pitch back and forth. "You once told me he must have loved me. What do you think now?" He uncapped the bottle and swallowed the contents.

"I think...I think he's an awful father and he shouldn't have done it and I don't know how he could."

Arthur smiled wistfully, setting the bottle on the floor. "Honesty. I missed you, Merlin."

"I've only been gone a day."

"It was enough." Arthur stared at him, strangely Merlin thought, a mix of relief and remorse. "But he might have gone after you next. Might still. Keep yourself scarce."

"About that... We didn't find Lancelot."

"But Morgana said..."

"She lied. Well, not her. The goblin. Let me explain." He summarized what had happened, providing only pertinent details and being vague on his own escape. When he finished, Arthur stared for several seconds as if working a problem, then struggled to his feet, wincing as he did so.

"I have to tell him."

Merlin's heart fairly leaped at Arthur's complete trust in what he'd said. "Arthur."

"He must know."

Arthur paused on his way to the door, bracing a hand on the wall, heaving several deep breaths.

Merlin dashed to his side, wrapping an arm around his hips. "Does it really hurt that much?"

"Like a flame's using me for kindling," he muttered. Merlin's eyes moistened and Arthur looked chagrined he'd spoken aloud. "This isn't worth tears," he reprimanded. "I'll live." Merlin blinked and wiped at his eyes.

He leaned into Merlin, attempting to straighten. He clutched the door handle, but didn't pull at it. "You know when you tried to stop that boar from killing me on your first hunt?"

Merlin nodded. How could he forget? It was the first time he'd used magic when Arthur was present.

"I was angry and I...meant to thrash you. Was going to, but Lancelot and Leon made me think and...I'm sorry, Merlin."

Merlin looked into Arthur's distressed visage. "It's okay. You didn't, right?"

Arthur began to pull on the door.

"Arthur, he won't believe you."

"You'll tell him."

"He won't believe _me_."

"And what do you suggest I do? Let these creatures take over Camelot?"

"Gaius and I are working on something, looking for answers."

"I can't just sit here."

"Yeah, you can." Arthur began to sway and Merlin held him tightly. "Back in bed."

"What is..." His eyes traveled to the empty bottle glinting on the rug in front of the fire. "What was that?" he questioned thickly.

"You'll sleep deeply for a long time."

"M-erlin. Why..."

Merlin hurriedly guided Arthur to the bed, laying him down on his stomach. The prince didn't speak anymore, simply closed his eyes. He'd combined a pain elixir and a sleeping draft; Arthur would pass obliviously for several hours. Merlin ruffled his master's hair, quirking a sad smile with one side of his mouth at the gesture he'd never performed before. Arthur would have shoved him away if he could.

* * *

Gaius looked up angrily when the door to his room creaked opened. "Where have you been?" he shouted. He'd given Merlin explicit instructions _not_ to leave his room. The girl that entered cause his tirade to stick in his throat. "Oh, Gwen," he readjusted apologetically. "I expected...Well, I'm sorry anyway. What is it?"

"Something's wrong with Morgana, Gaius, and I don't know who to turn to."

Gaius cocked his head and lifted his eyebrow. "What is it?"

"I heard her talking to Catrina and I swear...They want to kill Arthur, but Morgana never would do that."

Gaius fumbled the herbs he'd been tying to dry. "Gwen, whatever you thought you heard..."

"Morgana's got a goblin in her."

Gaius whirled around to see Merlin bounding down the steps from his room, which he was certain he hadn't been in a minute ago. "We agreed not to tell anyone!"

"But it's Gwen," Merlin argued.

"A...goblin?" Gwen stuttered.

"Little green man that can take over people's bodies."

"That's...what..."

Gaius' stern expression seemed barely able to control his rage, but he lowered himself to a stool and gestured at her. "Might as well explain it again."

As Merlin launched into his tale for a third time minus anything related to his magic, Gaius shook his head. What he wouldn't give for a year without any crises.

* * *

"And don't step a toe back this way or your head belongs to Camelot!" a voice yelled. Gwaine idled on the edge of the border. Uther had been dead serious about wanting them out of the kingdom―they'd traveled into the night until they were marched out of the kingdom. He quickly lost sight of the knights, trotting back down the road, probably intending to find a place to camp. Percival clapped him on the shoulder.

"There's good taverns in Essetir."

Gwaine smiled up at Percival bathed in moonlight and trying to lighten the mood. Elyan had gone silent, brooding all the way here. Nothing had turned out like they had been told.

"Come on," Percival encouraged. "Let's find shelter."

Gwaine let him step away, but remained unmoved. "Elyan, who was the man told you something was going to happen in Camelot?" He remembered Elyan all in a dither about his sister and father and Camelot, urging them to travel home with him.

"He didn't give me a name."

"Yeah, but what did he look like?" Gwaine continued to gaze back towards Camelot.

"What does it matter?"

"Did you see him there?"

"No."

"But he told you he was a knight."

"Used to be."

"But..."

"Knock it off, Gwaine."

Gwaine now did turn and Percival read his troubled visage. "What is it?"

"Someone wanted to stir things up. Maybe did. It just seems off and I think we've been played."

Elyan didn't comment.

Gwaine turned back to the road. "I think something else is supposed to happen, and maybe it's all been about Arthur Pendragon."

"So?" Elyan challenged.

Gwaine's hand went to his pommel. "So I won't let him die."

"Gwaine?" Percival questioned.

"King Uther didn't say what he was going to do. What if he executes him?"

"His own son?"

"I wouldn't put it past him." Gwaine stepped back across the border.

"Gwaine!" Elyan cried out.

Gwaine looked over his shoulder as he continued forwards. "You don't have to come."

Percival glanced at Elyan only briefly, then followed.

Elyan watched them go.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Credit to BooksAreMedicine for the music spell idea and making me keep Merlin hiding under Arthur's bed!


	52. All for One

**Author's Note** : Another _long_ chapter. Gearing up for the end of this arc!

* * *

Gaius was the first to rouse. He gradually righted himself, catching the book that had been laying open and face down across his chest. He recalled stumbling down the steps from Merlin's room to sink into his own bed. Just a moment, he'd thought, to rest before searching for more information. That last garbled thought had turned into hours sleep.

Gaius shut the book, casting it aside and rose, stretching and yawning. He shuffled to Merlin's steps and up, stalling in the doorway with a smile. Merlin and Gwen had given up, too, and lay squished next to each other in the boy's small bed. Gwen was curled around Merlin's form, one arm laying across him in a protective manner. The intimacy surely wasn't untoward, simply indicative of their friendship; Gwen was more like an older sister than anything else to the boy.

Gaius scuffed up to the bed and rocked Merlin's shoulder. "Merlin. It's morning."

The boy's eyelids fluttered and he blinked several times. A squawk rattled through the room and Gaius addressed the kestrel preening on the window ledge. "Out to breakfast with you!" Nero spread his wings and departed. Gaius always felt that bird was spying on him.

Merlin extricated himself from Gwen's arm and glanced at the piles of books on the floor. The maid had grabbed some from Morgana's room while she, or the goblin, had been out. "Did you find anything?" Merlin mumbled.

Gaius sighed. "Nothing. Let's put that aside for a moment."

"The grimoire..."

"I thought you'd been over that."

"Yeah, but..."

"Leave it be. Breakfast first, and then we can discuss the matter farther."

While Gaius heated their porridge, Merlin stacked the books. He pondered Gwen, wispy tendrils escaping her pulled back hair to frame her face. She looked like an angel, so innocent and sweet. No wonder Arthur loved her. Merlin's stomach flipped. He didn't like Gwen like that, never would, but he couldn't help a pang of...something. It startled him and he pushed the strange sensation away.

He changed quickly, praying Gwen wouldn't awake to catch him naked. Then he traipsed down the steps to the table in Gaius' rooms. He fiddled with his spoon, eating some, thinking more, wracking his brain. "I just can't figure it out!" He set his elbows on the table and buried his head in his hands.

"You really shouldn't have told Gwen," Gaius reprimanded quietly.

Merlin, in no mood for a lecture, dropped his hands and scowled. "She loves Arthur. She's Morgana's friend. She has a right to help them."

Gaius leaned across the table. "Yes, Merlin, but this increases the danger. Heaven forbid our plans come to naught, and she be implicated along with you, forfeiting her life."

Merlin stared at him, then lowered his eyes. "I didn't think of that."

"You should. You're getting older and you have to be more careful. You can't be as rash as you have been."

Merlin thought of Lancelot somewhere out there and a sudden fear overtook him. What if Lancelot hadn't returned because he knew about his magic? What if someone had caught him and somehow, someway he'd confessed to consorting with sorcerers and immediate justice had been enacted? He almost began to cry when he remembered Morgana said Lancelot had been seen at a tavern more than once and recently. He hadn't been dead then. "I'll be more careful," he whispered.

Gaius nodded sympathetically, and peered over his shoulder at Merlin's room. "I think it best she be put to good use elsewhere."

"What do you mean?"

"She cannot take on a goblin or a troll, no matter how skilled she is with a sword, but she could watch Morgana, keep near her."

Merlin nodded thoughtfully. A rustling sounded and Gwen appeared, descending the steps.

"Heavens," she murmured within a yawn. "I didn't mean to fall asleep like that."

"Come have some breakfast," Gaius coaxed.

Gwen crossed to him, accepting a bowl and sitting next to Merlin. She took a couple bites and then looked at each in turn. "So, have we a plan?"

Gaius glanced at Merlin and the boy rolled his shoulders. "Well, sort of. We think it would be good if you watched Morgana. Kept an eye on her. Make sure she doesn't do anything."

"So you don't know how to get the goblin out of her?" Gwen's dark eyes were intense with worry.

Gaius reached out to hold her hand. "You are so faithful to her. Merlin and I will find the answer, but you must see to her safety for now."

"Yes, of course, I will."

The meal was quickly finished. Gwen departed to her task and Merlin frowned at the books that had turned out useless. All he really had right now was a tale of a troll's will defeated by soothing music, and even though it was far from a sure thing, he figured he had to try it. But the goblin. It could threaten to kill Morgana and to him was the more dangerous of the two.

"You said Uther paid for goblins?" Merlin questioned.

"A large sum for every one."

"How were they captured?"

Gaius lifted an eyebrow. "You know, I never cared to discover. They came in boxes that were summarily burned."

Merlin narrowed his eyes as he thought. Boxes meant they could be captured. But how to get them out of a person and into a box? And what kind of box? He wasn't naive enough anymore to think a normal box would suffice. "I need to go!"

"Where?" Gaius called as he took off to his room.

"I'll be back!"

"Merlin!" Gaius dashed up the stairs, but only caught a flash of the boy's red shirt as he disappeared out the window. Gaius ran to it, glancing down to see Merlin crouched against the tower wall far below. His heart began to return to its proper place. He'd guessed Merlin had hidden some of the magic he'd learned, but the boy could have at least _mentioned_ this startling ability.

* * *

Gwen considered stopping by the kitchens, maybe asking Audrey if she needed someone to deliver breakfast to the prince today, but she cast aside her own heart when she remembered Morgana possessed by some creature. She'd heard of goblins in stories and tales, and although she believed Merlin, his claim was still fantastical and if she admitted it to herself, scary. Her duty was clear.

She hurried through the courtyard wrapped in her cloak, almost at a run as she approached the lower town. If she had to defend against some fairy tale creature, she wanted to be well equipped. She crept into her own home, passing her father on his cot in the far left corner and feeling a comfortable relief that he was oblivious to her trials; news of Elyan's exile had brought enough pain. She tiptoed quietly so as not to disturb him and drew back a curtain, meaning to withdraw her must treasured possession from a chest, but her arm was caught and she was pulled forward, a hand covering her mouth to keep her quiet.

Gwen's eyes widened, and she muffled out, "Elyan!"

"Shh, Gwen." He dropped his hand, pulling her farther in toward the door that led to the forge.

"You were taken to the border, they said." Whereas her father had railed at the fact, she'd been conflicted. Already worried about Morgana, she had decided it better that she _hadn't_ seen him before he left; she didn't know what unkind things she might have said.

"Gwaine came back. And Percival."

"The king will kill you," she whispered harshly.

Elyan released her as they entered the forge. He retreated behind the furnace to hide.

"Do you know what happened to Arthur?" Gwen asked, her voice more chastising than angry. "He was hurt because of _you_."

Elyan ran a hand over his face and looked away from her to the wall. "We heard him whipped and they took him past us after." She read shame in his gaze, but fierce wrath covered it. "Doesn't that prove Uther Pendragon is a monster? His own son!"

"But Arthur isn't," Gwen insisted. She neglected to say she'd never thought of Uther as a monster. Misguided at times, certainly; he had a temper, and she hated him for what he'd done to Arthur, but a monster? She wasn't sure.

Elyan turned back to her and anger gave way to confusion. "He isn't."

Gwen's eyes welled with tears. "I told you to give him a chance. He begged Uther not to execute you."

"I didn't think...I only remembered his arrogance and willingness to follow Uther."

"He did, but he's changed so much since you left. He's a good man, Elyan, and he will be a good king. And he's in trouble. The kingdom is in trouble."

Elyan nodded slowly.

Gwen cocked her head. "You know?"

"Gwaine suspects the man who sent us here meant to go after Arthur or something like that."

Gwen unconsciously twirled one of the curls framing her face, unsure if she should tell her brother about the troll and goblin. Even if he did believe her, what could he do? "You need to leave."

"I can't."

"Elyan..."

"I won't abandon Gwaine and Percival. They've been my only friends. I have to find them."

Gwen started when she heard voices. She left the darkness of the corner shadowed by the furnace to peer into the lane. Just early morning risers heading to the well with pails. She turned back. "It's not safe, you should..." Elyan was gone.

Gwen slipped back into the house, checking the curtained storage area and the main room. Worry clutched at her heart. First Arthur beaten, then Morgana possessed, and now her exiled brother risking execution. She could hardly handle all the emotions tumbling through her.

Gwen firmed her jaw. She had a duty. She went back to the chest, opening it and withdrawing her sword, the one she'd used to save Arthur, made with Elyan so long ago. He'd declared it perfect and gifted it to her. She gripped it tightly in her hands and left, rushing back towards the castle.

* * *

Merlin slunk down a secluded hall. He'd made it this far without getting caught, just a little farther. He sighted his goal, but the door suddenly opened and he dashed into an alcove next to the statue of a knight. He crouched and peered around its base to see Geoffrey grumbling as he fitted a key into a lock. The older, rotund man then struggled to pick up a stack of books and waddled off the other direction.

Merlin waited until he turned a corner, then rushed to the door. " _Aliese_." The lock clicked back and Merlin pushed his way in, then threw the latch on the other side. As he walked the rows of bookshelves he couldn't help a bit of guilt. Geoffrey had always been kind to him, willing to answer any question he asked, and he absolutely hated anyone touching his books without his permission, but this was a desperate time and desperate times called for desperate measures, right?

One time, Merlin had asked Geoffrey something about the Purge and the usually talkative man went silent. Merlin had been confused, and Geoffrey's only explanation was, "Those records are not to be discussed." Merlin hadn't said another word, but he'd learned two things from that discussion: there were records, and Geoffrey knew about them. The man kept every precious thing in his library. The forbidden records had to be here somewhere.

Merlin had wandered the library a hundred times for various reasons, sometimes just because foul weather produced pure boredom when Arthur and Gaius had felt the blasé, too, and laid off assigning chores. He hadn't ever seen anything indicating the Purge, but then the library was extensive and so many books didn't indicate their contents from the outside. Merlin stopped pacing and stood with his hand on his head. Think. Where would you hide something in here? Merlin didn't know if it would help, but he sent out his sight, tracing the paths of the library faster than his feet could, skimming over the books. Maybe if he viewed it from above. He shifted his golden gaze upwards to view the massive room from the ceiling. He blinked. There, off to the back, shelves, but they were farther forward than their companions next door. Merlin retracted his sight and made for them.

When he reached the bookshelf, Merlin ran his hands around it. " _Æ_ _tíe_!" he shouted a revealing spell. Nothing. In Ealdor, children had told and listened to so many stories of kings and knights, and any time a castle appeared, so did some wild tale of hidden rooms. Merlin stepped up close to the bookshelf, scanning every inch until he noted a metal rod at the base to the right. He fingered it. Maybe... He pulled. The shelf rotated and Merlin jumped back. It stopped halfway, revealing a hideaway. Moving inside, Merlin found it wasn't very large, containing only one bookshelf and a smattering of items. Merlin rushed to the shelf, pulling out several books. He sighed. So many. Luckily the most recent spell he'd mastered, and thought he'd rarely use, was fit for the task. Grinning at the irony, his eyes flashed gold and the covers of the books flew back, the pages fluttering from left to right like a mighty wind pummeled them. Merlin caught every word as it blew past.

* * *

Uther paced down halls towards the early court he'd demanded. He anticipated shock, disagreement, though he could think of only two advisers that would pull him aside privately and attempt to dissuade him from a rash decision. But this wasn't rash. It was calculated.

Uther drew a deep breath. Just as with Arthur, desperate times called for desperate measures. He had to act quickly to preserve his kingdom. Catrina had been perfectly pleased with his decision. After all, they had both been married before and neither coveted an elaborate handfasting. This wasn't the giddiness of first love, but the calm warmth of being understood and supported.

Uther paused outside the door to the council chamber. His announcement would make its way to his son, who he hoped would sense his role in the kingdom was at stake, and if he desired to be the heir that Camelot needed, would fall into step. Uther didn't allow himself to contemplate what would happen if Arthur continued to fight him.

The guards opened the doors when Uther waved a hand. He entered, nodding to court officials as he strode to his throne. Catrina was already present. Morgana, too. He glanced around the room, noting the others, even Gaius who had been called away from his medicinal work. He shared a glance with Catrina, then turned back to the room.

"My friends," Uther began, spreading his arms wide. "You are, no doubt, wondering why I have gathered you here today. Though we live in dark times, today I bring you light, and love. It gives me greatest pleasure to inform you that the Houses of Tregor and Pendragon are to be united in the closest bond of all. I am to marry Lady Catrina of Tregor. We will wed this evening with a feast to follow. Our kingdom will be secured, and I have no doubt you will come to value my new wife as much as I do."

Uther held out his hand to Catrina who took it, then leaned into him, and smiled at the rest of the room. They clapped, but as Uther expected, the two advisers were already making their way to him, concern written on their faces.

"I do love you, Uther Pendragon. And I will make you happy."

Uther bent down to kiss Catrina's cheek. "Of that I have no doubt."

* * *

"Gaius!" Merlin called out as he tumbled back down the stairs, catching himself with magic. "Gaius?"

"Merlin?" Gaius was just entering the main room. "Where did you go?" he demanded, slamming the door. "You don't even have the decency not to make my heart stop?"

"Huh?"

Gaius threw his hand out. "Jumping out of windows!"

"Oh." Merlin said, then smiled broadly. "Yeah, erm, I can do that. I catch myself before I hit the ground. It's pretty easy." He'd figured that one out soon after he'd returned from his father, figuring if he ever had to jump off a ledge again, it might do to have some way to save himself if it didn't turn out as well.

Gaius sank to his table, rubbing at his eyes. "You will be the death of me, my boy."

Merlin placed a book in front of him

"What's this?"

"Record from the Purge."

Gaius glanced up at him. "Geoffrey let you take this?"

"Not exactly."

"Merlin"

"I had to do _something_!"

Gaius patted the boy's arm. "I understand. What did you find?"

"These." Merlin turned several pages, lists of magical beings caught and killed. "But then this."

Gaius leaned over and his eyebrows raised. "Instructions."

Merlin nodded. "How to catch them, or some of them. Look." He pointed at a paragraph. "The witchfinders enchanted the boxes."

Gaius shook his head. "Uther using magic to destroy magic again."

"Yeah, and here's the spell."

"I can't believe Uther kept this," Gaius murmured, paging through the book.

Merlin, who had bounded to the side of the chamber, commented. "I don't think he did."

"Oh?"

"I mean, Geoffrey keeps everything. I just think he couldn't destroy the records."

"Hm," Gaius intoned. Geoffrey had been attached to the Pendragons as long as he had and was thoroughly loyal, but thirsted for knowledge. Ordering the man to burn books would have killed him.

Merlin stumbled back over hefting a wooden box with a clasp. "See. I'll just enchant it."

Gaius stared, opening his mouth to protest at one of his best storage boxes being appropriated, but then closed it. Sacrifice for the kingdom, after all. "But how do you get the goblin out of Morgana?"

Merlin set the box next to the table and sat down. "I've been thinking about that. The goblin left Jonas because he was dying. What if _Morgana_ was dying?"

Gaius tilted his head. "Kill Morgana?"

"Just maybe give her something, and an antidote."

"Do you know how dangerous that is?"

Merlin looked chagrined.

Gaius kneaded his temple. "Let me ponder this. I _don't_ want you trying that until I think it over."

Merlin nodded gravely.

"But whatever we do, it must be done soon. Uther has announced his marriage to Catrina."

"What?" Merlin's eyes grew round.

"The troll must be exposed by this evening. The wedding will happen and then a feast."

Merlin jumped up, running to his room.

"Not again!" Gaius shouted.

But Merlin only grabbed his lute and the grimoire and returned setting both on the table. "You work on the goblin. I'll work on the troll."  
Gaius stared at the box and then at the list. He rose to consider the shelves full of bottles and his section of poisons. Merlin caught the old man staring back at him.

"What?"

"Camelot is lucky to have you, Merlin."

Merlin's cheeks tinged pink as he studied the enchantment.

* * *

Arthur moaned groggily as consciousness returned. He made to push himself up, and then groaned, sinking back into his mattress. His back burned far less than it had, but his muscles felt entirely weak and sore. He closed his eyes until a voice spoke.

"Prince Arthur, there is a meal here."

Arthur opened his blurry eyed gaze and let it wander to the voice. Geoffrey? Sitting at his table. Arthur's stomach rumbled.

"May I assist you?"

Arthur came more awake. No way in creation was he letting an elderly librarian aid him like a child. "No," he mumbled as he forced himself to sit up and put his feet on the floor. As he padded to the table, he noted it had to be mid-afternoon at the least.

Geoffrey stood and walked to his doors, peeking out for a moment and muttering something to his guards. Arthur had made it to the table by the time the keeper of records returned. He slumped into a chair, leaning forward with his left arm on the table so as not to rest his back against it. He picked up a spoon and began to eat the simple porridge. Geoffrey didn't speak again until he'd gulped some watered wine.

"The king has asked me to instruct you."

Arthur let his eyes roll over to the man.

"Concerning the lineage of Camelot, its conquest, and the deeds of its greatest men."

Arthur dropped his eyes to the bowl. "I already know all that."

"Perhaps we should start with Bruta," Geoffrey continued, sounding a bit offended.

Arthur snapped his gaze to him. "Bruta was a wise and respected leader, the first king of Camelot after he engineered peace talks with the warring tribes. His plans led to the separation of Albion into the five kingdoms."

Geoffrey nodded at his explanation. "Your own father..."

"Stood up to injustice," here Arthur couldn't help but huff a breathy laugh, "taking up the cause of a people led by a tyrant king and splashed his blood on the council chamber walls, winning the throne."

Geoffrey looked taken aback by the colorful description. His ruffled feathers resolved quickly however and he bent closer to look Arthur in the eyes. "It is not just instruction your father requires. He will want evidence that what I tell you has led to change."

Arthur felt repentant. Geoffrey's gaze exuded compassion and sympathy. He turned back to his porridge. "Go on then. Tell me and I'll listen." Arthur was surprised when Geoffrey's hand touched his arm lightly and he looked over as he chewed.

"I was hoping I could talk to the king, and you would be released for the nuptials."

Arthur dropped his spoon and sat up straighter.

"Nuptials?"

"Your father is to wed Lady Catrina this evening."

Arthur stared disbelievingly, and the night before came flooding back to him. Merlin had shown up, telling him something about a troll and goblin and Morgana possessed and Catrina... He leaped to his feet, bolting to the doors.

"Prince Arthur!"

"He can't!" he yelled as he flung them open. He made to sprint down the hall, completely forgetting the guards. He was grabbed from behind and dragged back towards his room. "Let go!" He struggled and kicked. "I need to talk to my father!"

"Orders are you stay inside."

"Get off me!" Arthur shoved at the guard and was shocked into silence when a hand pressed hard into his back. He buckled to his knees, gasping for breath, sharp pain reignited. He was shoved back inside.

"Get my father," he strained out.

"What is happening here?"

Relief flooded Arthur to behold Gaius.

"Prince tried to leave his chambers," the guard explained. "Wanted to see the king."

"Well go get him, then," Gaius commanded as if the guards were idiots.

"We have orders to remain on duty."

Gaius looked to Geoffrey, who stood. "I will inform the king," the librarian said, exiting the room along with the guards.

Gaius reached down, gripping Arthur's arm. "Come on. Up, sire."

Arthur wobbled to his feet.

"I can examine you in bed or in a chair."

Arthur plodded towards the table, sinking down into a chair, crossing his arms on the table, and perching his head on them. Gaius' gentle hands felt like a safe haven as he unwrapped the bandages and removed the poultices.

"Healing is beginning. No infection." Bottles rattled and clinked as Gaius arranged them on the table. Arthur listened to them uncapping, Gaius meaning to prepare fresh poultices for his injuries. _Wounds inflicted by..._ Arthur balled his fists, reliving the betrayal that had overwhelmed him when he'd been taken to a cell usually reserved for interrogation, realizing what was to occur when one guard asked for the removal of his shirt, then went about shackling him, and the second unveiled a three tailed whip.

"Gaius?" Arthur murmured softly as his mind fled to the physician's hand on his head the day before, such a comforting touch as he'd never received from his father.

"Sire?"

"Why does my father hate me?"

Gaius didn't respond right away, and Arthur regretted his question. It was too personal, too emotional. "He doesn't hate you. He just doesn't know how to express his care properly."

Arthur blinked rapidly, tracing the patterns in the embellished window across the room and cursing himself for his weakness.

"Your father's life has been difficult, his kingdom hard won and fought for. He's experienced and meted out little else than harsh and swift punishment to sustain it."

Arthur could understand to an extent, but it didn't expunge the sorrow in his heart.

Gaius' next statement was whispered. "But that doesn't make it right."

Arthur heard the door open.

"Arthur."

He pushed to a stand. Gaius backed away from the table. Arthur met his father's eyes, trying to read any emotion in them and finding steel. "You can't marry Catrina."

Uther's hands perched on his hips. "You have no say in this."

"She's a troll."

Uther's face began to grow red in anger.

"I mean, she really is. She isn't Lady Catrina of Tregor. A troll is impersonating her."

Uther stared for a moment, then began to laugh. "You have me taken away from preparations to come hear this? Really, Arthur."

"You can trust me."

"Ah, yes. Trust the son who countermands my decisions."

"Father―"

"No more, Arthur. I will hear none of it. You will accept Lady Catrina as your new mother."

"Father!"

Uther turned, waving at the guards who shut the doors. Arthur crossed the room to smash his hand into the door and turned, leaning his hips against it.

"Arthur," Gaius began, moving towards him.

"Merlin was here last night."

"I guessed that."

"You know he's back?"

Gaius nodded. "And I know of the troll and the goblin. You need not fear. We have a plan to expose them." He directed Arthur back to the chair.

"I have to do something."

"Do you trust Merlin?"

Arthur looked into Gaius' stern gaze. "He's just a boy."

Gaius smiled gently. "Who has saved your life more than once."

"Yes," Arthur consented quietly.

"He will save your father from this. I think, sire, this time you don't have to do anything."

Arthur leaned back over the table as Gaius dabbed his back with a cloth. He stifled a moan. He'd never been good at sitting around. A sudden thought occurred to him, and he turned slightly to the physician. "Could my father have been enchanted?"

"By the troll?" Gaius paused again before answering. "Troll magic isn't given to enchantments." Arthur clenched his teeth when Gaius' ministrations brushed a sensitive nerve. "And the goblin has none. Its mischief is purely physical. Though anything is possible if either of them are more versed in magical arts."

Arthur clung to the glimmer of hope welling up at Gaius' words. His father _had_ to be enchanted. He never would have hurt him like this otherwise.

* * *

Gwaine pointed upward at a tree next to the citadel's outer wall. "I planned to leap it at the training match with the servant boy."

Percival glanced up and then tapped the top of his own shoulders. "You don't need to."

"And how do you get over?"

Percival grinned and flexed his bulging biceps.

"You're scary strong sometimes."

"What do we do when we're in?"

"One step at a time, my friend."

"We don't even know what the man looks like."

"I think we find Prince Arthur first. Tell him."

"What if he doesn't believe us?"

Gwaine stared Percival straight in the eye. "I trust he will. Now come on."

Percival approached the wall and knelt down for Gwaine to climb onto his shoulders.

"Doing this without me?"

Their eyes darted to a young man staring at them with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Elyan!" Gwaine exclaimed.

The young man approached, unfolding his arms and holding out his hand. Gwaine gripped his wrist and Elyan returned the gesture. "I'm with you."

Gwaine grinned, slapped the young man on the back, and jabbed a thumb at Percival. "You first."

Elyan climbed onto the giant's shoulders.

* * *

Gaius tapped on Merlin's door and was greeted with a dismal, "You can come in."

Gaius slipped inside. Merlin lay on his back, arms crossed tightly over his chest, expression despairing. "What is it?"

"That!" Merlin gestured at the discarded lute on his side table.

"The enchantment?"

Merlin popped up, clapping his hands onto his knees. "I can't do it! I've tried and tried!"

Gaius sat down on the bed, then lifted the grimoire from the floor. "It's a difficult spell."

"But I'm Emrys! Or so everyone keeps telling me!"

Gaius placed a hand on Merlin's knee. "You may be Emrys, and you may have power within you, but it's only just taking shape."

Merlin scowled. "Then what use am I? I can't figure out Nimueh's spell and I can't enchant that"―his finger poked at the lute―"and Aredian almost killed me and the troll captured me and Arthur got whipped!"

Gaius' hand squeezed the boy's knee as tears appeared at the corner of his eyes. "Arthur's flogging had nothing to do with you."

Merlin blinked, but the tears overflowed anyway. He angrily swiped at them.

"Having a wealth of power doesn't mean you can do _anything_ ," Gaius spoke reassuringly. "You aren't a god, Merlin. This world binds you as much as anyone, even if you can access a part of it most of us can only dream of. You must learn what can be done and what cannot."

Merlin reached over to clutch the lute and thrust it at Gaius. "But this _can_ be done!"

Gaius balanced the lute in his lap and glanced at the box on the floor. "What about that?"

"That was easy," Merlin mumbled. "It's ready."

"See. You _are_ useful."

Merlin cast him an annoyed glance. "Only if we can get the goblin out of Morgana without killing her."

Gaius nodded thoughtfully. "We could slip a poison into her food, and I have an antidote, but this still worries me. If anyone is caught administering it, they will face execution."

Merlin bit his lip. "It has to be me."

"I don't think that's wise."

"They don't know I'm here. They think I died. I can sneak into Morgana's with the poison and antidote."

"And when will you do this? And how?"

"Go out the window."

"The route to the library is less guarded, and you visited Arthur at night."

Merlin looked surprised.

"Oh, yes, I know you went to Arthur. He told me."

"I had to give him something."

"So I noticed when I found an empty bottle this morning." Gaius smiled. "It was a good thing to do, though dangerous."

Merlin smiled thinly, happy with the praise, still daunted by their situation.

"The point is, Morgana's chamber window is in the courtyard, and it will be impossible to sneak there in broad daylight, and going from here to there by way of the castle halls, even the servant's ways, will be disastrous."

"Then how, Gaius?"

Gaius pursed his lips. "I can only think of one way, and I hate it even more."

Merlin realized. "Gwen."

"Yes."

Merlin rubbed at the top of his head. "Even if she does it, we still can't stop the troll. The lute isn't ready."

Gaius patted his shoulder. "You can do it, Merlin. Be calm. Look within yourself for the skill you possess."

Merlin accepted the lute as Gaius handed it back to him. He stared down at the grimoire Gaius had laid on the bed as the physician left to secure his poison. He closed his eyes, searching deep within himself. Somewhere in there was the ability; he just had to find it. For Arthur. For Camelot. For all of them.

* * *

Finding Prince Arthur was proving to be a time consuming and draining mission. Slipping past the numerous guards, servants, and nobles was nigh next to impossible. Gwaine's frustration bubbled to the surface at the starting and stopping, the delayed progress as they were forced to hide for interminable amounts of time.

Now they were holed up in a what appeared to be a storage area attached to an armory. Percival had stolen food from a tray somewhere along the way and given them some. Elyan took a roll. Gwaine chewed discontentedly when an apple was shoved into his hands. He fiddled with the core when he finished.

"This is ridiculous," he grumbled. He glanced at Elyan. "Why didn't you come up with a better plan? You're the idea man."

"I thought you knew what you were doing," Elyan hissed.

"I did, too," Gwaine mumbled. He usually just went with his gut. Trouble was sometimes his gut deceived him.

Elyan sighed. "We need a better way to get around the castle."

"Hidden tunnels?"

"Right, Gwaine. I'm sure they leave maps to anything like that lying out in the open."

"Armor," Percival's deep voice rumbled.

"What?"

Gwaine grinned. "We go about as guards. Genius, Percival."

The big man's hand hit his back. Voices sounded outside and Gwaine tensed, then growled in the back of his throat. They just had to wait some more.

* * *

Gwen had puttered about Morgana's chamber all morning and all afternoon, watching her mistress carefully. Sometimes she'd convinced herself Morgana couldn't be inhabited by a goblin and other times, the woman's glaring eyes caused fear to shudder down her spine. Her lady had tried to dismiss her attentions, but Gwen used the excuse of mending her finest dress which she certainly would wear to the wedding as she did to all important events. It wasn't true, but the goblin didn't know that, and so she stuck around, sewing, adjusting, and now and then asking her lady to try it on.

Gwen's distress grew as the time wore on. She trusted that Gaius and Merlin were working hard towards a solution, but the evening approached without a way to defeat whatever plot had been enacted. Until there was a knock on the door.

"Answer it," Morgana snapped.

Gwen bowed her head demurely and cautiously opened the door. "Gaius!" The physician's eyes proclaimed conspiracy and he held a box between his hands.

"I must speak with you," he urged lowly.

"Who is it?" Morgana's rough tone spat.

"Gaius, my lady."

"The physician. What does he want?"

"He needs me for a moment."

She glanced back to see Morgana grinning. "Well, then, go. Take all the time you need."

Gwen curtsied and backed out of the room. Gaius gestured to her own small chamber across the way and they retreated inside.

"Please tell me you have something! I've been watching her and sometimes it seems like her and sometimes it doesn't, but I can tell whoever is in her is getting weary of me."

Gaius frowned. "We have something, but it is quite dangerous."

"What?" Gwen asked hesitantly.

Gaius held up a bottle with a skull and snake adorning its label. "The goblin will leave if it feels its host dying."

Gwen's voice grew breathy. "You want me to _kill_ her?"

"Begin to," Gaius explained. "Then you give her this." He held up another bottle without a label. "An antidote."

"But the goblin, where will it go?"

Gaius reached down to retrieve the box he'd set on the floor. "This is a magical box."

Gwen stared at it. "Magic?"

"Enchanted by witchfinders long ago."

Gwen tried not to shiver at the reminder of Aredian.

"We were just as surprised as you to learn of its existence. If the goblin comes out of her, it will have no choice but to enter the box when you open it."

Gwen considered the poison and antidote in her hands. "So I need to poison her and also use _magic_."

"I am sorry to ask this of you."

Gwen steeled her gaze. "I will do anything to save her...and Arthur and Camelot."

Gaius smiled and tenderly patted her cheek. "Dear Gwen. You and Merlin may be young, but your courage...you both put me to shame."

Gwen smiled gently back and reached out to squeeze his hand. "You're just as brave."

Gaius looked dubious. "If so, it's you two who make me." He let go her hand and slipped away.

* * *

Gwaine grinned lopsided at the servant girl propped against a wall, quite glad of the respect he garnered in the borrowed armor.

"And _why_ do you want to see him?" she inquired with a coquettish smile.

"Good friends," Gwaine answered.

"The king says no one is to see him or he'll have our heads."

Gwaine scratched at his chin. "Well, I'd risk my own, but it's not nearly as tempting as yours." He bent over her, lifting a hand to play with a lock of her coppery hair. She blushed. "Truth is we worry about him."

The girl glanced at Elyan and Percival, armored as he and waiting several paces back.

"All we want is a moment to encourage him."

The girl looked back into Gwaine's umber eyes. "You know most of us are very sorry for him really. That the king would hurt his son so."

"Then let us uplift his spirits."

"All I have to do is walk past his door?"

"Yep."

The girl pushed off the wall. "Stay far back. I can't get caught."

Gwaine nodded, and she giggled a little before taking off in front of him. Gwaine gestured frantically to his companions. As they trailed the girl, Elyan grumbled.

"What is it with you? You're disheveled, scruffy, and everything about you shouts 'get away.'"

Gwaine chuckled as did Percival. "Girls like a rogue."

"Not Lady Morgana," Elyan pointed out.

"Except her."

The girl took several halls and the three men followed. She turned a corner, glancing back as she did so and touching a finger to her lips. They paused at the corner, Gwaine spying around it. Two men guarded a door.

"Get ready."

"You remember the prince said he didn't want to injure the guards?" Percival recalled from their time in the dungeon.

"We won't injure them permanently," Gwaine assured. "Just incapacitate them for a while."

"You're going to get us killed," Elyan groaned.

"Then leave."

"Like I have a choice now."

Gwaine grinned, watching the girl swagger past the men. He'd identified her type immediately, one that liked attention and knew how to command it. Once she passed, one of the guards pointed and both their eyes ogled her.

"Now!" Gwaine whispered. He bolted around the corner and in seconds had one of the guards in a headlock, compressing his windpipe. Elyan drew the guard's weapon and cast it away. The other guard might have made a run for it, but Percival socked him in the gut. The big man then did as Gwaine, and his tight grip had the man collapsing in seconds. When both were limp, Gwaine rapped on the door.

"A moment," a voice called out, but one Gwaine thought older than Arthur's. He brandished his sword. Heaven forbid it be the king himself!

"And so you see," a voice droned as the door cracked open. "The Battle of Ten Tribes was decisive, and King Eaduin's strategy was adopted in many other campaigns. Oh my!"

Gwaine pushed a rotund man backwards, drawn sword pricking his chest. He heard Percival and Elyan dragging the guards' bodies through the door and just had time to observe Prince Arthur jumping up from an almost dead faint, making for his sword belt. "Stop! They're not dead! It's just us!"

Gwaine threw off his helmet, swishing his long hair, glad to escape the stuffy headgear.

Arthur paused with his hand on the belt and his eyes widened. "What the... You were exiled!"

"We came back," Gwaine grinned. Arthur stared as Percival and Elyan joined Gwaine at each side. "Word is you aren't allowed to leave here." He scanned the room. "Nice chamber."

The rotund man had backed to the wall, eyes darting between them all in confusion.

"Who's this?" Gwaine asked, gesturing at him.

"Our keeper of records. Don't hurt him."

Gwaine sucked in a deep breath. "Better tie and gag him, then."

Arthur stared warily. "What are you here for?"

"To talk to you."

"Just talk?"

"And maybe to save this kingdom."

Arthur tilted his head in question.

Elyan stepped closer to him, casting off his own helmet. "You protected us and your people. We're returning the favor."

Arthur moved his hand away from his belt. "Then start talking."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Most of Uther's speech about his marriage comes from the show. **  
**


	53. Weighed in the Balance

**Author's Note:** Another LONG chapter, longest yet, I believe. I really try not to write them this long, but I didn't want to break it up. The next arc I'll be able to make them shorter again, I think.

* * *

Merlin wished desperately for Kilgharrah or Nimueh. Maybe they'd have some better advice than Gaius' "Look within yourself." Merlin reread the enchantment, feeling like his eyes would roll out of his skull. It never changed, just sat there taunting him.

He'd actually tried to speak with Kilgharrah, but the imperious beast was ignoring him. Merlin could guess at his thoughts― _Do this on your own; I'm not going to do everything for you your whole life, young warlock._

Merlin lay on his back in his bed, arm across his eyes. He was running out of time. He wanted to scream, punch the wall, kick a door, or _something_ , but that wouldn't do any good. Arthur was always going on about controlling yourself and a knight's patience and self-awareness. Arthur... It had taken everything within him not to jump out of the window again and visit his prince. Gaius reported he was doing well, starting to heal. Merlin had inquired how bad the flogging had been, and Gaius' "It could have been worse" didn't make him feel any better.

Merlin's fingers dug into his palm as he balled a fist. Arthur had come to his defense when he'd been beaten by Nob and his lackeys, devising a chance for him to confront the bully. Arthur's bully was his own father! If he could let his magic run free, he'd chain Uther to a wall and see how he liked the bite of a whip.

Merlin's imaginings shifted, envisioning Arthur shackled instead, crying out as his back tore to shreds. His chest tingled, burned, and he heard a clatter. He opened his eyes to behold his sword dislodged from its place on the wall, wagging back and forth. Woah! He sat up. He hadn't meant to do that. He concentrated on it, sending it back to its place.

He considered the enchantment spell. Arthur. The Dragon Man. His mother had told him Kilgharrah called them two sides of a coin. Bonded. Merlin startled when a lute string plinked. He glanced at it, then the enchantment, then the sword on the wall.

Merlin reread the enchantment, thinking of the prince who meant more to him than anyone else in the world, more than his mother or father or Gwen or Gaius. Thought of how he had to help him _now_. The lute began to glow, strings pinging away. Merlin could hardly breathe as times Arthur had been in danger passed through his memory―charged by a boar, dying of poison, knifed in the side, flogged. His chest ached, the lute grew louder, the world swirled. The glow ceased.

Merlin doubled over his knees, forehead touching the bed, sucking in breaths. What had just happened? He pinched his eyes shut for a time, lungs throbbing as if he'd just run the tower stairs up and down several times. Gradually, he pushed back up and warily considered the lute. It didn't look any different. He slid it into his lap and plucked the first note. His eyes rounded as it continued on its own, playing the tune. When it stopped, he jumped up and flew down the stairs.

"Gaius! I did it!"

Gaius turned from his wardrobe, clothed in his best robe for the wedding. "Merlin! What did I say? You can't appear like that! What if someone had been here?" As the physician had spoken, he'd marched over to the door to turn the lock.

"Yeah, okay, but listen!" Merlin plucked the string again. He looked to Gaius eagerly, but the man had paused on his way back towards him and just stood there, a comb idle in his hand. "Gaius?" Merlin set the lute down as it continued to play and shook the physician's shoulder. "Gaius?"

The lute finished. Gaius blinked his eyes...and jumped, tumbling into a table. "Merlin! How did you move so fast?"

"I didn't."

"But you were over there,"—he pointed with the comb—"and then you were here."

Merlin wandered back to the lute, picking it up. His face broke into a grin. "It worked," he whispered.

"What?"

"The enchantment! You lost your will."

Gaius lifted his right eyebrow. "I didn't even hear it. Perhaps only the sorcerer who enchanted it can? That would be quite fortunate."

"Let me try it again!"

"Merlin, we don't have time to..."

But Merlin had already set the lute playing again. Gaius stood immobile. Merlin glanced at the comb in his hand. His eyes blazed gold and it floated to his open hand. The lute stopped.

Gaius blinked again and then narrowed his eyes at Merlin grinning and waving the comb. Gaius looked down at his hand, then back at Merlin, grinning himself. "You did do it. Well done, my boy. Just in time. We can only hope it works on trolls."

Merlin picked up the lute. "It has to. I'll have to hide nearby during the wedding and..."

"No." Gaius lifted the lute out of Merlin's hands.

"But I'll have to be close to the troll to make it work!"

"You won't be nearby. You'll be far above on the balcony, safely hidden away as we discussed. _I_ will start the lute playing, and then _you_ will do the spell to reveal the troll. Once that happens, and Uther sees the truth, you have no reason to stay. You will return here."

"Gaius―"

Gaius forcefully gripped his shoulder. "I don't want you risking any more than you need to. I won't lose you or Gwen. You're in too deep as it is."

Merlin had seen the look in Gaius' eyes before, the one that proclaimed you better listen to me or else. He bit his tongue and nodded.

"You think you can sneak in as we planned?"

"I can."

"I worry about you up there."

"I can do it. I _have_ to be there."

Gaius sighed, resigned. He took the comb back from Merlin and ran it through his hair a few times, then dropped it on the table. Clutching the lute in his right hand, he headed for the door. "It won't do to be late to the king's handfasting ceremony. I'll look for you." They shared a last nervous glance, and Gaius departed.

Merlin hastened back to his room and up to the window. He mounted the crate that allowed him to open the shutter and stared out. The sun hovered on the horizon as starry jewels awakened from their daily slumber. He held his breath, his eyes went golden, and he shot upwards.

* * *

"What did he look like, this man?" Arthur asked, his mind in a tumult at the story he'd just heard.

Elyan met his eyes from before the fire. Arthur had asked his unexpected guests to sit. Elyan accepted and Percival as well. Gwaine balanced on the edge of the table keeping an eye on Geoffrey who sat in a chair near him having promised not to say a word, but looking altogether ruffled.

"Tall, broad shouldered, dark hair slicked back. He seemed confident."

"No unique details?"

"Nothing."

Arthur continued to pace. "He said he'd been a knight. When?"

"He didn't specify, but I think he's near the king's age."

"He could have been lying," Gwaine cautioned.

"But not about trouble coming to Camelot." Arthur halted and eyed the three one by one. Gwaine shrugged, Percival stared, Elyan firmed his jaw. "And it's more than you three."

"Oh?" Gwaine shifted to a stand.

"There's magic involved."

"Magic?" Elyan asked disbelievingly. "He was a sorcerer?"

"I have no idea," Arthur confessed. "But I have been told that..." He paused, examining the expectant faces. Could he really trust them? After all, they were partly the reason he'd ended up battered. But they'd also come back, risking their lives like good knights would for their king. "There's a troll and goblin involved."

The men shared glances, and Gwaine laughed sharply. "A troll? And goblin? You're joking." Arthur glared at him. Gwaine dropped his smile. "Why?"

"A plan to take the kingdom, and it's working. My father is about to marry the troll."

Gwaine guffawed again and Percival chuckled. Elyan didn't adjust his gaze from Arthur.

"You can laugh all you want, but if my father marries a troll, and he and I end up disposed of somehow, it will take over Camelot, and I can only guess what this unknown stranger means to do with that turn of events."

Gwaine sobered and locked eyes with Percival. He nodded at him, then returned his attention to Arthur. "It's still funny,"—the prince scowled all the more—"But you're right. We were part of the plan and didn't even know it. We caused the king to doubt you."

"More than that," Elyan mumbled. Arthur took in the man's wholly repentant expression.

"I'm fine," Arthur asserted.

Gwaine stood up from the table. "You forget we saw your wounds. _Fine_ isn't the word I'd choose."

Arthur ignored the comment, striding over to his wardrobe and pulling out a gray shirt. He crushed his teeth together as he worked his arms into the clothing, then retrieved the sword belt and buckled it on. "Looks like I'll attend my father's nuptials after all." He eyed the librarian. "Geoffrey, you'll have to stay here."

The librarian glanced at the men, then slowly stood. "My lord, I will keep silent. You have my word. And I will make sure these guards," the man gestured at the unconscious men on the floor, "do not leave your chambers."

A grin spread across Arthur's face. He'd never thought of the librarian as brave, but as Geoffrey stood there, eyes determined, chest puffed out, his respect for the man grew a hundredfold. He made his way to the door. "Stay here," he commanded the other three men.

"Oh no," Gwaine chided, shoving his helmet back on. "I'm going with you."

Percival popped up from his seat to join his friend, Elyan copying his movements.

"Execution hangs over your heads," Arthur protested. "You're seen and you die."

"Then we won't be seen," Percival grinned, throwing on his own helmet.

"My lord," Elyan's voice was soft and for the first time Arthur heard similarity with Gwen's. "Let us make this right."

"Besides," Gwaine added. "No way you're fighting fit after that whipping."

"I'll have you know I've suffered worse blows and claimed victory," Arthur objected.

Gwaine snorted. " _Sure_ you have."

Arthur looked as if he might punch Gwaine, then he laughed shortly. "You remind me of Merlin."

"Your boy?"

"He doesn't know when to shut up either." He nodded to the men. "Come along if you wish, but be warned it's possible you go to your deaths." He inhaled one more deep breath, then flung his doors open and marched down the hall.

* * *

Gwen tried to disguise the tremble of her hands as she approached Morgana with a goblet of wine. Gaius had instructed her to wait until he came by before the wedding, but she had just finished braiding the ward's hair, and Morgana meant to leave. This was her only chance.

"My lady, your wine."

Morgana turned from her mirror, eyes narrowed. "What is that for?"

Gwen swallowed thickly. "Your headaches. It will alleviate them."

"Headaches?"

"You know you get them all the time, and Gaius says the wine helps to stave them off." _Please believe me! Please believe me!_

"I don't have a headache." Morgana headed towards the door.

"But, my lady, you never have warning when they appear."

Morgana sighed and snapped. "If I drink it, will you leave me alone?"

"Yes, my lady."

The possessed ward gripped the stem and began to sip. The pulse in Gwen's neck pounded as she held her hand to it. _I'm killing her. I can't believe I'm killing her._

Morgana suddenly pulled the chalice away. "What is...the taste..." Her eyes went wild and she threw the goblet across the room where it clanged against a wall. "Why you conniving..." She raised a hand and Gwen flinched, but it froze mid-swing. "Don't you..." she muttered, "You aren't in control here!"

Gwen dashed for a blanket where she'd hidden her sword. She withdrew it and stood in front of the door.

Morgana began to sway, unfocused gaze seeking her out. "Cl-ev-er. But you...wouldn't..." A cry of pain and clutching at her middle. "Kill...her. Give me...the antidote."

Gwen shook her head.

"I'll kill her myself!" Morgana gripped her own head with two hands.

"Stop!" Gwen shouted.

Morgana froze again, then wailed and for a moment terrified eyes met hers. "Gwen...Help me!"

The sword bobbed in Gwen's hands. Who did she see? Her lady or the creature?

Morgana buckled to her knees, then fell to her back, writhing, hands plastered to her head. The wail pitched high and without warning a tiny green man popped into existence, grotesquely thin, crooked nose, gleaming yellow eyes, toothy grin. Quick as lightning, he bounded towards her. Gwen slashed at it and dodged.

"Nasty girl! Wretched wench! Think you can outsmart _me_?"

Gwen stumbled to the curtain where she'd hidden the box. She fumbled with the clasp, just about to throw it open, when the goblin dived at her. She thrust out her sword, but missed as the goblin landed on top of the box, its eyes flaming with anger.

"Burn me, eh? Little physician friend teach you that trick?"

Gwen lashed out and caught the side of the goblin's arm before it could jump away. It shrieked, growled, screamed, and leaped...

* * *

Shivers shuddered down Merlin's spine, both from fear and elation. He'd catapulted onto the roof nearest his tower, and floundered sideways, catching himself from sliding off the peaked stone. Incredibly, Gaius had been the one to suggest he make his way to the grand hall via the roofs. Merlin had stared at him in shock; _Gaius_ asking him to do something dangerous? But as the physician explained his logic, Merlin realized it was the only option to get to the wedding without drawing attention.

Merlin balanced on the pointed ridge, a bit of magic securing his feet. Jumping obstacles was the most thrilling part. By the time he reached the hall, he was breathing heavily and smiling broadly. He made it! Now to get to the balcony.

The balcony was off a tower usually kept locked, but Merlin, whose boyish curiosity had compelled him to scour and memorize the castle in his first year, knew the tower could be entered from its top. He braced himself, staring at the rocky ground below before he flipped over the tower's overhanging roof and momentarily dangled. He swung diagonally, let go, and tumbled into the tower's circular walkway, laying on his back to catch his breath.

When he pushed to a stand, he unlocked a wooden door with his magic, then slipped inside, taking the downward steps hesitantly. No one would usually be up here, but with the crowds and the heightened security since the riot, one never knew. He entered the balcony lined with windows filtering the dark orange of the setting sun and inched up to a corner to peer below.

Crowds had gathered―council members at the front, nobles in the middle, a few trusted servants in the back. The aisle remained clear for the king and his bride. Merlin sought out Gaius' white hair and embroidered blue robe. Where was he?

Merlin ducked back around, shaking out sweaty palms. This had better work. They had one chance. He'd memorized a spell of revelation, but of course, he'd never tried it. He chanted it in his head. He had to get it right.

Trumpets sounded. Merlin peeked back around. Uther was entering; Catrina would come next. His eyes scanned the room. Where was _Gaius_?

* * *

Gaius sped along the corridors. The wedding would start soon and he'd need to be in place. He could hardly believe he meant to employ magic right in front of the king, but if everything went well, Uther wouldn't even be aware. Still, he'd spent too long shunning his magical skill to be perfectly comfortable. Well, first the goblin, anyway. Take care of it and then the troll.

Gaius' step slowed when he sighted Morgana's door. It was cracked open. He advanced cautiously and pressed it open farther. "Morgana? Gwen?"

He stepped inside and immediately identified a white hand jutting out from the end of the table. He set the lute down. "Morgana!" He knelt next to her and cupped her pale brow. She was cold as ice, her lips going blue.

He jumped up, running to Gwen's room on the other side of the hall, pounding on the door. He opened it when no one answered. It was empty. The antidote! Where was the antidote?

He returned to Morgana's room, frantically searching, pulling out drawers and discarding their contents, scouring the wardrobe, turning over the vase on the table, everything. He stopped when he saw the enchanted box. He threw it open. Empty. "No," he whispered.

Despair threatened, but was delayed when a glint drew his eye to something under the window curtain—a broken glass bottle, liquid pooled under it. He pressed his sleeve into the mess, soaking up as much fluid as he could. He ran back to the dying woman, parted her lips, held his arm over her mouth, and squeezed the sleeve with his other hand. He only needed a couple drops. One fell, then two, finally three. Gaius dropped his arm, monitoring the sluggish pulse at her neck.

"By the gods, please!" Gaius closed his eyes. Foolish! He shouldn't have done this. Her death would be his fault.

A weak moan met his ears. Gaius swallowed the lump in his throat and didn't mind the watering of his eyes as he looked into the ward's visage. She briefly relaxed, and then her eyes sprung open and seeing him, she scrabbled at his robe.

"Gaius! Help me! I'm trapped! Please!"

Gaius pulled her into his arms, patting her back. "You're safe now."

"It had me. It talked to me. It said things..."

"What?" Gaius asked gently.

"I fought...I kept it away from...from..." Words failed her.

"Here." Gaius aided Morgana to a stand and over to her bed. "Wait for me. I will return."

"Merlin and Gwen..."

"They are all right. Rest. You are fine, and they are fine. Stay here. For me."

"Yes. I will. Yes." She clasped her hands over her chest.

Gaius gathered the box, swiped the lute from the table, and hurried as fast as old legs could manage.

* * *

Arthur sprinted up and down hallways and stairs, the boots of the three exiled men pounding behind him. He marveled at their loyalty to plunge with him into an unknown danger for no reward except a possible execution. He almost laughed. If he failed, what consequence would his father mete out on him this time? He didn't dare guess as he cut off his own groans at the stripes pulling and stretching on his back.

Arthur turned a corner. The throne room doors were closed; no one loitered in the hall, though two guards stood outside the door. He strode forwards and spoke with all the authority trained in him since birth. "Stand aside."

The guards glanced at each other and one spoke. "We weren't informed you were coming, sire." He peered over Arthur's shoulder at the armored men.

"My father is in danger."

"Eh, the ceremony's started."

Arthur leaned in close, eyes boring into the guard. "Stand. Aside."

The guard obediently moved, opening the door. Arthur paused. "You don't have to go any farther," he pleaded with the three men.

"We're with you," Elyan swore. Gwaine nodded once. Percival gripped the pommel at his hip.

Hang it all. If they hadn't been common men and hadn't been facing a crisis, he'd have knighted them then and there.

Arthur assumed he wouldn't get far, so he got as far as he could. He raced down the aisle, towards the dais where Uther and Catrina held hands before the officiator. Uther turned, horror banishing his smile. Knights darted forwards sensing a threat. The crowd pressed closer to the walls, unsure what this meant. Arthur had almost reached the dais when a wall of knights formed before the king. He retreated a step and felt something at his back. The three exiles had gathered close to him, swords aloft, defying anyone to come near him.

"Arthur!" Uther shouted, leaving the dais. "What is the meaning of this?"

The knights parted for their king. Arthur met his father's furious gaze. "You can't marry her. She's a troll."

"Jealousy." Catrina's dismissive tone rang through the hall that had grown very quiet all of a sudden. "His special place in his father's eyes taken by a woman." She remained on the dais, but held Uther's attention. "He wants your kingdom for his own."

"Arthur," Uther whispered, gaze now on his son.

"It's her," Arthur insisted. "She tells you these things and you just believe them. You're enchanted."

Uther laughed. "Enchanted? If anyone is enchanted, it's you, who's so easily turned on your king."

"She's poisoned you against me!"

"Take him back to his room." He glared at Arthur. "You will be punished for this most severely."

"Get back!" Arthur shouted as the knights pressed in. He grabbed Gwaine's hand next to him, ripping off his glove and threw it at Uther.

Uther watched the glove land at his feet, then glanced up, astonished. "You're insane."

"I challenge you," Arthur yelled, then let his volume drop. "If you refuse, you appear a coward."

"She's right. You want my throne."

"I've never wanted it until it was time, but I cannot let you give it to her. If I have to take it now to stop this, I will."

"My lords!" Leon strode to Uther's side and lowered his voice as they had. "Can we not avoid this confrontation? Sire," he addressed Uther, "let us pause and withdraw privately."

"Arthur!" The new voice was Gwen's.

Arthur looked over his shoulder to perceive her charging up the aisle. She pushed past the knights, running up to him and throwing her arms around his neck.

"Please, don't do this! Think, Arthur. Think of me."

"What are you doing?" Arthur hissed.

"I don't care. I love you." And her lips assaulted his as she pushed up on her tiptoes.

Arthur pulled away, but Uther was already commanding. "Take her out of here! Confine her!" Elyan grabbed Gwen's arm, tugging her into their protective circle.

"Don't touch her!" Arthur shouted at his father.

Uther leaned over and picked up the glove. "Everything was true. You choose a maid as your lover, deny my laws, covet my throne." He drew his sword. "Then come, Arthur, and take my life if you desire it."

* * *

Merlin had barely kept quiet as everything went horrifically wrong below. The wedding had just started, and he was frantically searching for Gaius. He had just determined to run off and find him when Arthur appeared followed by three soldiers. Knights circled the prince, and Uther stepped down to argue and accuse. And then Gwen! Why in the world would Gwen show up and declare her love? Even he knew such a move was fatal! She should have been with Morgana...

Merlin's heart about stopped. Morgana. The goblin. Gwen acting crazy. _No_!

A clash of weapons brought him back to the moment. Arthur and Uther had begun their duel, crossing swords. Arthur's words from months ago came back to him: _I thought of challenging him._ And then he thanked Merlin he hadn't. As much as Merlin wanted Uther to face retribution, this couldn't be allowed to continue. Arthur couldn't take the throne by killing Uther. Such an act would destroy both him and the kingdom.

Merlin hurtled down the tower stairs. He reached the door at the bottom, magically threw back the lock, then tumbled out and into the grand hall. "Stop! Arthur!"

All eyes fixed on him. He hadn't thought this part through and for a second he stood paralyzed, terrified he'd just exposed himself. Catrina gasped loud enough the sound echoed off the walls.

"Merlin! Stay out of this!" Arthur ordered.

The fight had paused and Merlin addressed the king. "Arthur's telling the truth. Lady Catrina _is_ a troll. And there's a goblin, too. Morgana and I saw them and they attacked us."

Uther's expression hardened. "You even make this boy spout your lies," he muttered, head swiveling to Arthur.

"You're always blind!" Merlin reproved in frustration.

Uther pointed at him. "Restrain him!"

"Leave him alone!" Arthur ran towards Merlin, Gwen hot on his heels.

And then over all the chaos, Merlin heard the sweet and sure tune of a lute. He had only seconds to note Gaius standing in the doorway of the king's antechamber off to the side of the dais, when Gwen passed Arthur and collided into him. She clawed at his eyes. He struggled against the onslaught as they hit the floor, grappling and kicking.

"How did you do it? How?" Gwen screeched. Arthur stood stock still in shock.

"Catrina!" Uther cried.

Gwen halted her attack at the shout and Arthur turned. Merlin took the opportunity to scoot backwards. People mumbled and pointed at Catrina who had collapsed. Merlin whispered furiously. " _Hierste þæt íecen sóna!_ " Catrina jerked in Uther's arms, bubbling and mutating grotesquely. Uther recoiled. By the time the lute finished, a gray, fanged beast lay alone upon the dais.

People shouted. Screamed. Pointed. Arthur called out. "The truth, father!"

Uther's stunned eyes wandered to his son. The troll held up its hands. The floor rocked back and forth as it manipulated nature to its will. Merlin went down again, Gwen squeezing his throat and slamming his head into the floor. More shouting, Gaius calling out, "Merlin!"

Fuzzy static besieged Merlin's vision. Hands grasped him and pulled.

"Woah, there. We got her," someone murmured. It sounded like...Gwaine?

"Merlin!" Gaius grabbed his shoulder and Merlin blinked up at him.

"Gwen...Goblin," he stuttered. Gaius nodded and held out the box in his hands.

Merlin yanked Gwaine's sword from his hand as he searched out Gwen held by a solider crying as she seized in his arms. He rushed them, slashing viciously at Gwen's abdomen. The soldier holding her screamed, and Merlin was dragged backwards and thrown to his knees, already weeping.

* * *

When the troll appeared, Arthur changed direction from Merlin to his father, throwing himself in front of Uther. As the room quaked, he fell back into his father. The king grasped his arm, steadying them both. Their eyes met and Arthur read regret and distress, but also determination. They advanced on the troll. Knights joined them, surrounding the beast.

Cowed, discovered, it dropped its hands and tried to run, but swords greeted it on all sides. Arthur pressed his own into its neck, Uther aimed his at its gut.

"Who are you working for?" Arthur growled.

The troll held up its hands. "I don't know. I don't know."

"I don't believe you."

"Don't kill me! I beg you."

Uther, still not over his shock, spoke quietly. "You are an evil creature of magic. You gave up your life the moment you came into my kingdom."

"You enchanted my father," Arthur added. "You don't deserve to live."

The troll's pleading gaze turned gleeful. "Enchanted?" It cackled. "There has been no enchantment." It met Uther's eyes. "You may kill me, but you can't hide your dark heart. A mere suggestion was enough to destroy your heir."

"You lie!" Arthur accused. He plunged his sword into its neck. Blood spurted down its body, staining the white clothing of its impersonation.

The troll flailed forward, grasping Arthur's shirt as it fell. Arthur was dragged downwards as it muttered dying words through hideous lips pouring blood. "No...lie...You know...the...truth..." The last word faded and the troll crumbled.

* * *

Gwaine didn't know what to think when Elyan's sister attacked Merlin. He rushed to the boy's aid. Percival captured the girl, wrenching her away and back to Elyan. The physician spoke to the boy.

Then Merlin was jumping up, stealing his sword and slashing at the girl. Percival now grabbed Merlin, shoving him to his knees with his heavy hand on his shoulder and ripping the sword from his grip. He glanced at Percival, then Elyan who pressed his hands into Gwen's abdomen to stem the bleeding. Merlin's weeping drew Gwaine's attention, the boy bent over double, head to his knees.

All that had happened was shock enough, until a high pitched shrieking filled the room and a little green creature appeared as if it burst right out of the maid's mouth. Gwaine instinctively jumped backwards as it loped towards him. It leaped...and was sucked past him, like a mighty wind had grabbed hold of it.

Gwaine turned to see the physician holding open some kind of box. The creature howled as it hit the bottom. The physician snapped it shut, latching it. He shoved it into Gwaine's hands, staring at him intensely. " _Don't_ open it."

Gwaine nodded dumbly as the physician moved over to Gwen. "Arthur!"

Arthur was on the dais, standing over the body of a gray mass. He turned, saw Elyan's crying and the maid collapsed. He rushed to them.

"I need her in my chambers now."

Arthur picked the girl up, staggering. The king had followed in a daze.

"Sire." The physician stated.

"Gaius?"

"Morgana. She must be looked after."

"She's ill?"

"There was not just a troll, but a goblin as well. It possessed her and then her maid. Bring Morgana to my chamber."

"Goblin," Uther murmured.

"Morgana, sire."

Leon appeared at the king's side. "I'll go with you, my lord."

"Yes. Good," Uther stammered.

* * *

Morgana had laid down for some time, agitated, anxious for Gaius to return and explain what had happened to her. Last she remembered she was locked inside darkness, harangued by a rattling voice insulting those she loved, touting its own selfish arrogance, and seeking out _magic_. She replayed its words― _You have it like the boy. Hide from the king, do you? When this ends, perhaps we use each other, hum? Let me touch it. Let me in! Curse you! Why resist me? We can do so much with it!_ She hadn't been aware she possessed anything more than dreams until it wanted what she had. For the first time, she felt it, a knot of something precious waiting to flow in her veins. And she _fought_ to protect it.

Now her teeth chattered in fear as she paced her room. Magic. She had it, she'd thought, only when she removed her bracelet. But that wasn't true, was it? It went deeper into her very being, only needing her to recognize and awaken it. What could she do with it? Did she dare touch it?

"Morgana."

Her heart leaped into her throat. She placed a hand at her neck. Uther stood in her doorway, Leon behind him. Why had _he_ come? The magic! He knew, somehow he knew, and he'd brought someone to arrest her! She stepped back.

Uther continued forward, but instead of anger, uncertainty colored his gaze. Was he afraid of what she might do? Had he already assumed she was evil? "Gaius said you needed to come to his chambers. That...there had been a goblin inside you." She heard revulsion in his words.

"I...I'm not sure."

And then he was upon her, gathering her into his arms. "You must have been so scared."

Morgana nodded into his chest, bewildered at his intimate action. "I was."

"Come." He pulled back, taking her hand. Leon followed along obediently behind them. "What happened to you?" Uther prompted.

Morgana recalled a now fuzzy memory. "Merlin and I were traveling, and he heard voices. We saw..." She gasped.

"What?"

"Lady Catrina!"

"She was a troll," Uther stated tightly. "She's dead."

"We saw her talking to someone about causing an uprising and disgracing Arthur in your sight."

Uther's hand stiffened in hers. "Who did she converse with?"

"I don't know. He wore a cloak. And then Lady Catrina's servant was there and I couldn't move and there was this creature...That's all."

A long breath left Uther's lips. "The troll has been exposed, and Gaius says the goblin captured. What do you remember of the last few days?"

"Little." The nervousness returned, fear of the king who loathed magic holding the hand of one who possessed it.

"How fortunate you are," Uther muttered.

* * *

"There was a goblin in Gwen?" Gwaine asked, staring at the box in his hands that sometimes thumped and emitted a grumbling. "Must be why she was so crazed then."

Merlin nodded without reply. Gwaine had came back, and Elyan and Percival, too, but that mattered little to him as he walked behind Arthur carrying Gwen, Elyan at his side, Gaius leading them to his chambers.

Gwaine to his right spoke grimly. "You had no choice."

Percival on his left agreed. "You did what you had to."

Merlin didn't take his eyes from the limp head hanging over Arthur's arm, her curly black hair bouncing freely. He'd told her and involved her. This was on him.

"Hey. She'll be all right," Gwaine encouraged with a hand on his shoulder.

But Merlin took no comfort in the gesture. People always said things would be all right even if they wouldn't. When they reached the physician's chambers, Gwen was laid on a cot and Gaius went to work. Percival and Gwaine occupied the table, the latter placing the box in between them. Merlin found a seat in front of the fire. His back blazed uncomfortably, but he didn't move, coveting the distraction from the turmoil of his mind. When Uther appeared, he didn't even rise to acknowledge him as Gwaine and Percival did, bowing heads to maintain the illusion they were simply Camelot's soldiers.

Morgana knelt by the cot next to Elyan. "What happened to her?"

Gaius sent her a cursory glance. He had cut away Gwen's dress around the wound and was cleaning it with a cloth. "I will explain in a moment."

"You will explain _all_ of it, Gaius," Uther commanded, and Merlin caught his eyes flicking to Arthur who leaned a hip against one of Gaius' worktables.

"Yes, sire," Gaius agreed, his gaze seeking out Merlin and discovering him by the fire. Their eyes met briefly, until Merlin lowered them to his knees.

Leon, who had entered with the king and Morgana, had taken up position next to Arthur. "Gaius. The prince needs tending."

"I'm all right," Arthur insisted.

"You are not," Leon spoke unequivocally. He withdrew his hand from behind his back, revealing blood smears.

"You were wounded?" Uther questioned his son.

"No."

"Previous wounds," Gaius growled.

Uther's sudden chagrined expression brought a bit of satisfaction to Merlin.

"On my worktable by the window, my lord. The cloth and bottle. Cleanse the injuries. I must see to the girl."

Uther picked up the requisite items, shifting his gaze to Arthur, who didn't look at him. Lines of red had soaked through Arthur's shirt indicating scabs reopened by his exertion. Merlin made to get to his feet. "I'll do it."

"No, Merlin," Gaius ordered vehemently. "You bring my thread and needle." Merlin slouched to the other side of the room.

"Leave us," Uther commanded, eying the false soldiers. He pointed to the box and focused on Leon. "Take that to the vaults. It will be destroyed forthwith."

"Yes, sire." Leon retrieved the box. Gwaine and Percival made to follow him, but Elyan had stood, taking off his helmet.

"I will not leave."

"You!" Uther shouted. "Arrest him!"

"No," Arthur moved from the worktable, to face his father. "They have aided me this day to their own peril."

"They?"

Gwaine and Percival removed their own helmets, seeing as it made little difference now.

"They were exiled!"

Arthur addressed Leon. "Take them to my chambers."

"I'm staying with Gwen," Elyan demanded, but Morgana patted his arm.

"I will tell you if we need you."

"I can't leave her."

Morgana squeezed his arm. "Don't press the issue," she advised gently.

"My lord?" Leon asked, looking to Uther.

Uther waved grumpily. "Arthur's chambers. Just assure they do not leave."

Leon left with the three men, who didn't fight the order. Merlin handed Gaius the thread and needle, and his gaze honed in on Morgana's, grief meeting compassion. She pulled him down next to her, and he leaned into her side as her arm wrapped around his shoulders. Merlin relaxed, content to be held even if it felt a bit childish.

* * *

Uther focused on Arthur who sank onto a stool. His son tugged his shirt over his head with effort, but didn't pull it off his arms. He set them and the fabric in his lap. Uther began to untie the bindings, its bloody stains causing a wave of nausea.

"Gaius?" Uther breathed.

"The girl will live." The physician threaded the needle.

"The explanation."

Gaius began the stitching. Uther peeled back the poultices, for the first time beholding the results of his orders. Lines marred Arthur's back, crossing in places, some pink, some weeping red. He dampened the cloth and pressed it to a wound. Arthur didn't make a sound, but flinched. Uther's eyes stung.

"Has Morgana told you anything?" Gaius inquired.

"She and the boy spied Lady Catrina plotting. Or the troll."

Gaius' brows met as he concentrated on Gwen's injury. "With someone. Who, we do not know. The goblin had possessed the man Jonas. Merlin tried to kill the troll, but Jonas received the blow and the goblin took up another residence. Your ward, sire."

Uther glanced at Morgana holding the boy, the one who had caused such a rift between him and his son.

"Merlin was restrained and left to die, but he escaped and told me about the troll and goblin. We did not want the creatures to know he lived as we attempted to discover a solution. It wasn't too difficult. I weakened the troll's ability to control the illusion of Catrina by putting dwale in its drink. It took effect at the wedding. And the goblin, well, sire, please forgive me, but I have kept a box enchanted by the witchfinders in case of need. Merlin guessed that the goblin would leave if its host was thought to be dying. I'm afraid that did not work to plan entirely. We asked Morgana's maid to poison her and then provide an antidote when the goblin fled, but it managed to take her instead." Gaius pondered Gwen's unconscious face. "She was quite brave, sire, as was Merlin."

"And the men you exiled," Arthur added. "They returned to warn me of the plot."

"They were part of it?" Uther asked.

"Unwittingly," Arthur clarified. "Meant to stir up trouble only, but their hearts were for our people."

Uther finished dabbing the wounds and leaned back, setting down the reddened cloth. He wiped at his forehead. "You should have told me, Gaius."

The physician didn't look up from his work. "I apologize, my lord, but you would not have believed me."

"I should have been told," Uther argued.

Arthur let out a breathy laugh. "You didn't believe _me_. Why would you believe Gaius?"

"Is that why this happened?" Morgana questioned, letting Merlin go and gaping when she examined Arthur's injuries. "You whipped Arthur?"

"Morgana," Arthur warned, but the ward continued.

"How could you do this?"

"There was a threat to our rule, and Arthur..." Uther's words died in his throat.

Arthur touched Morgana's wrist. "We will talk of that later."

Morgana's eyes smoldered, but she said no more.

"It was magic," Uther asserted. "It corrupts all that is good. Surely this creature was sent to enchant me."

"You can't blame magic for everything this time," Arthur whispered.

"I have not been myself. I'm afraid I might have taken some actions that were unwarranted."

Arthur slowly stood and turned, eyes of steel reflecting his father's. "There was no enchantment."

"It must have been," Uther argued, but his heart pounded his ribs. He had not felt like he was waking from a dream when the troll died; every action he had taken was clear to him, as logical as it had been the moment he'd chosen it.

"You needed only a push to mistrust me."

Uther stood, speaking desperately. "I love you. I always have."

Arthur turned away.

"Arthur."

"I have nothing to say to you."

Uther gazed around the room. Gaius kept his eyes on his patient, Morgana glared at him, the boy had his arms folded around his knees and his eyes closed. He moved to the door and out.

* * *

When Gwen came to, tears brimming in blue eyes filled her vision. "Merlin, what's wrong? Oh. Wait. Morgana! Is she okay?"

Merlin gripped her hand. "I'm sorry, Gwen. So sorry. I told you and I hurt you and I'm sorry."

Another face leaned over her and a hand stroked her cheek. "Arthur!" He lay a gentle kiss on her lips.

"Don't forget me," a soft voice said, and Morgana smiled next to Arthur.

"My lady."

"Dear Gwen." Morgana stroked her forehead. "You were so courageous."

Gwen began to move, then groaned and leaned back when her abdomen protested. "Ow."

"The goblin took you," Merlin murmured.

"I remember."

"It used you, and Merlin," Arthur's gaze went to his servant, who looked away in shame, "hurt you to make it leave."

"Oh."

"You'll be all right," Morgana assured. "But you must rest for now."

"Merlin?" Gwen asked. "You had to. I understand." Merlin bowed his head to her and stood, moving away.

Morgana placed a hand on Gwen's shoulder. "I'm so glad you're all right!"

Arthur followed his servant boy to his room. Merlin flopped onto his side, knees drawn up, arms tucked around his middle. Arthur sat on the end of the bed. "I think when I become king, I'm going to make you a knight. You're braver than any of them."

Merlin closed his eyes. He couldn't ever tell anyone about his magic. Not Morgana or Arthur or Gwen or anyone. No one else could get hurt like this because he'd pulled them into his troubles.

"Come on, Merlin. I hate it when you stew like this. Remember the code? Sometimes a knight has to do hard things even if they're the right things."

"I could have killed her."

"You didn't."

"But..."

"Merlin!" Arthur slapped his leg. "I command you to stop this." He moved off the bed, crouching down next to Merlin's head. "Look at me."

Merlin opened his eyes to stare into Arthur's blue.

"I trust you to do what's right, and what's right isn't always easy or fair. Gwen will survive. Don't let this guilt pull you down. Do you hear me?"

Merlin nodded.

"Besides, you have an excuse unlike my father. At least you fought against the magic."

Merlin swallowed hard. _Used magic, you mean, to stop it._ "I'm sorry, Arthur, for what he did."

Arthur stood, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Both you and Gwen, apologizing for him. Don't ever do that. He doesn't deserve it." Arthur clomped away to the door, and Merlin contemplated the wall, heart breaking because he'd seen the hardening in Arthur's eyes. Uther had taken something from him that Arthur would never get back.

* * *

A deluge lashed the land, lightning bursting and thunder crashing. A burning screech scoured the top of the citadel. Towers became flaming torches. There! Silhouetted against a flash of light―the last dragon. It strafed fire; people screamed. The castle crumbled with a roar. The dragon tumbled into its ashes, iron pike lodged in its chest. Uther screamed, but another voice screamed louder. _You have been weighed, Uther Pendragon, and found wanting! Your doom is foretold. When the last dragon has met its end, so will come the end of your reign!_

A hand shook Uther's shoulder. "My lord? Sire?"

Uther shook awake. The hand on his arm helped him sit up.

"We have been searching for you, sire."

Uther wiped at his watery eyes and coughed.

"Come back to your room, sire. Rest."

He looked up, recognizing Leon. He let himself be guided to his feet, but resisted the pull away to look back at the sarcophagus. On the top, carved in stone, his dear Ygraine. He'd pleaded for her to return to him until he'd fallen asleep. He laid a hand on the stone as cold and empty as his life without her.

"Come. Please," Leon urged.

Uther let himself be taken away from her. Each step back through the catacombs, his will resolved. Magic had come once again. Magic had made him kill Ygraine. Magic had made him hurt Arthur. Magic had destroyed everything that mattered to him, and magic would pay.

* * *

Gwaine straddled the border again, watching Elyan hug his sister good-bye, Morgana standing at her maid's side.

"I love you, Gwen, and I'm sorry again for everything I put you through."

The maid squeezed him tightly. "You made the right choice in the end."

He let his gaze wander to Percival sharing a hand grip with Leon. The man had been kind and understanding to them, and Percival for some reason seemed to have hit it off with the man over the course of the day. Leon, Gwaine assessed, was on Arthur's side and probably the only reason Gwaine felt comfortable leaving the prince alone. That, and the servant that followed him faithfully.

Merlin and Arthur talked at their horses, and Gwaine couldn't help but smile. They had something unique those two, something he'd had with his own half-brother before he'd been forced to flee. Maybe he should seek Gareth out. If he still lived that was.

Really, these five people of Camelot all shared something Gwaine envied. Along the way to the border, they'd been reserved, events taking their toll, but the farther they traveled from Camelot, the more they relaxed into smiles and kindnesses, friendships born of time and trial, walls broken between royals and nobles and servants.

Morgana ambled over to him. "There's more to you than I first thought."

"This is your last chance," Gwaine teased her. "Say the word and I'll break the exile a second time for a night with a green eyed goddess."

Morgana snickered. "I do love another, you know."

"And where is he, this great lover of yours?"

"Somewhere alone," she murmured, her eyes losing their humor.

Gwaine reached out to touch her cheek, but she didn't pull away. "I truly hope you find him," he spoke sincerely. Morgana smiled.

Arthur approached them, Merlin at his side. More farewells were uttered. Gwaine clapped Merlin's shoulder. "Watch out for this princess." He winked.

Merlin grinned.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You know you're not supposed to talk that way to royalty."

"I'm a royal bastard," Gwaine shrugged. "We're a little on even footing, right?"

Arthur shook his head.

"Ah, well. Worth a try."

"I do wish I'd convinced my father not to exile you still."

"It's better than death," Gwaine countered. Uther Pendragon had sat on his throne, trying to look regal and impassive, but Gwaine had perceived the haunting in his eyes. He'd acknowledged their aid, but hadn't been convinced to pardon their crimes. "And we _did_ encourage rebellion."

"Don't encourage any more," Arthur advised.

Gwaine just smirked as Arthur and Percival held each other's shoulders. Percival looked him in the eye. "We won't go far. Send Leon if you need us. He'll know where to find us."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "I guess it's better if I don't ask...Elyan." He nodded to the young man.

"Take of her," Elyan said and Gwen flushed.

"You have my solemn oath."

They shared final waves and the three men began their journey into Essetir. Merlin had told them to head to Ealdor and tell his mother they knew him, that they'd get a bed for the night. Gwaine glanced back one more time at their five new friends mounting their horses. He wondered if they'd ever really see each other again. He would be highly put out if they never did.

* * *

A woman with golden tinted chestnut hair flowing down her back lilted back and forth. How many times would she trust those who could not bring their promises to fruition! Three had arrived. A fourth would come, the one she currently nursed her wrath for. Ah, there he was, creeping in, eyes darting around, coming to rest on her.

"It's time." She commanded their attention at the head of a long stone table, staring at each in turn as they took their places, letting her piercing gaze rest on the fourth dark haired man, tall, strong, but so easily subdued by her power. "Every plan we make fails. Uther and his kingdom survives. My patience is at an end. You have had your chances."

"Lady Morgause, please," the fourth man spoke. "You cannot reveal yourself, if you do..."

"What, Agravaine? You want me to hide in the shadows like you, trusting to creatures to do my work for me?"

Agravaine looked apologetic. "It was a good plan..."

"It failed! You've used trickery to bring Uther to his knees." Now she addressed them all. "An enchanted token." Her eyes met Alined's, then shifted back to Agravaine. "Trolls. Goblins."

"Perhaps if we.."

"No, Odin. You and Cenred will not have your chance. You will listen to me this time." She smiled. "You try to insert destruction within Camelot's walls, but there is already one inside, trusted, adored, and deceived."

"Who?"

Mogause grinned. "I will keep this one to myself until I am ready. It is I who will act next."

"But..."

"You are dismissed."

"We came all this way!" Cenred protested.

"And now you have heard my intentions and if you still want my power in your war, you will submit. I will let you know when I need your aid." She smiled as they slunk away, unable to do anything but what she desired.

"How cunning."

Morgause turned to see a woman in tattered clothing standing behind her. Her brow darkened. "Nimueh."

The high priestess smiled. "It's been some time."

"Leave."

"You need me. I'm stronger than you still."

Morgause laughed. "So you believe."

"I am here to set aside the ill will between us and offer myself to your cause."

Morgause narrowed her eyes, assessing the woman who hated Uther as much as she. She read revenge and pain. "Tell me what you offer, and perhaps we can make amends."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thus ends this arc! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing and sharing your thoughts with me on PM! The next arc will be more intimate in flavor. Someone returns, two new faces arrive, and our budding warlock will encounter an affair of the heart :-)


	54. Old and New

"You collected all the parchments?" Arthur inquired as they strode down the hall.

Merlin nodded, readjusting the strap of his satchel. "Yeah."

"The rules of trial?"

"First one I put in."

"Good."

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"He won't like it."

"And that matters?"

Merlin didn't answer. It certainly didn't matter to Arthur. Once he'd cared about his father's opinion and coveted his praise. All that had started to change after his vision in the cave, and the incident with the troll and goblin had cemented his opposition to the king. He'd become bold and outspoken, attending all meetings and offering advice, even when it contradicted his father's. For the most part, Uther put up with his son. What could he say against him? All Camelot knew Prince Arthur had protected his people and their current ruler had been duped by a troll.

"I shouldn't be there."

Arthur didn't slow down. "We've talked about this before."

"It always makes him annoyed with you."

"If I want you there, you'll be there."

Merlin sighed. Arthur had been pressing his father even when it came to him. He'd declared Merlin his official scribe and started taking him into meetings. Uther had let him attend, but his calculating gaze twisted Merlin's insides. The king had stopped arguing with Arthur about him and had descended into some remote, begrudging acceptance that Merlin viewed as paper thin. He kept wondering where Uther's limits were, what action would push him over the edge.

"Besides," Arthur continued, "if you're going to be part of my kingdom some day, you're going to need to learn the ins and outs of politics."

Merlin groaned inwardly, tightening his hold on his satchel. Politics, the other reason he wanted out. The meetings were incredibly boring, and even taking notes for Arthur couldn't alleviate that part of it.

Arthur tapped the crown of his head. "I know what you're thinking."

Merlin slapped his hand away. "You're not a mind reader."

"I don't have to be. Your face says it all. What if I promise after this we take a ride?"

"Where?" Merlin had learned Arthur often harbored ulterior motives when suggesting riding.

Arthur shrugged. "Anywhere."

"Really?"

"Maybe a stop at the arena."

"Not _again_ ," Merlin protested.

"You need to get better."

Merlin glowered at the prince. Almost all yesterday had been spent learning stupid drills for tournaments and their wretched competitions. Arthur had set him capturing metal rings on his sword. Merlin had been rubbish at it. Of course, he wouldn't have been if he could use even a _smidgen_ of his magic to aim. "I don't need to do anything. I can't participate in the competitions anyway."

"You could. The Decennial Tournament."

"Uh-uh. Never." He'd heard about that one—a free for all where tons of men died just for a bunch of coins.

"Come on. Anyone can participate."

"You _want_ me to die?"

"It won't happen for another year."

"You want me to die in a _year_?"

"No. That's why we'll keep training."

Merlin slowed his step. "Are you serious?"

The corners of Arthur's mouth twitched as he looked at him. "Really, Merlin, sometimes you make it so easy." His smile broke, his eyes clouded, and Merlin looked over his shoulder to see what had drawn his attention.

* * *

Gwen hurried across the courtyard. She'd gone home, intending to take an hour to prepare breakfast for her father. Morgana had always been flexible, letting her see to duties at home when she needed to. Still, she hated to leave her mistress alone. Ever since the goblin, the ward's confidence had been shaken, the fire seeming to have left her, and anytime Gwen questioned, she was assured all was well. But it wasn't well.

Gwen grinned. A knock on her door and a visitor had changed everything. It _would_ be well now. She hastened up the entrance steps and down the hall, but then turned a corner and skidded to a halt. Merlin stood with his back to her and in front of him, Arthur. Their eyes met and her heart raced as she read the intense love in his expression and its dissolving into utter sorrow.

The goblin's display at the wedding had put a target on her back. Arthur had claimed to his father she had been possessed, that nothing she'd said had been real, only the goblin's attempt to discredit him. But his defense of her meant they had to play it out. No more clandestine meetings or secret visits, not for a time anyway.

"My lord," Gwen greeted as she began walking again.

"Guinevere," Arthur acknowledged.

She'd bowed her head, but raised it again as she reached him. She wanted to touch him, hold him, tell him everything would work out in the end, but how could she know that? She couldn't endanger him, opening the door for Uther to do worse than he already had to his son.

Arthur turned away and entered the council chamber. Merlin hesitated. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't say it, Merlin," she pleaded. He'd apologized a million times for the entire predicament, that he'd involved her, hurt her, and inadvertently caused the separation from the one she loved. She didn't regret the cost of playing her part in rescuing Arthur from a terrible fate, and if Arthur could bear their separation as well as he was, so could she.

Merlin briefly held out a hand instead and she clasped it for a moment, accepting the signal of his understanding and care. Events had left them both in a precarious position in the castle. Uther owed them for giving themselves for Camelot, but a niggling fear in each cautioned that if they pressed too hard, Uther's good will would vanish.

Merlin's hand slipped out of her grasp as he followed Arthur into the chamber. She blinked away sudden tears and turned. There was better news, and she couldn't wait to deliver it.

* * *

Morgana perched on the edge of her bed, eyes closed. She'd settled here day after day when she was alone and could steal a moment to think and _feel_. She sought out the burning knot that had beckoned for release these three months, pulsing, calling, tempting. She stretched her mind into its tangles. One snip and it would be free. She withdrew, icy fear resisting. She wondered if every magic being felt their power as a living thing wanting for use. If so, no wonder they let it go sometimes, unable to fight its allure.

Morgana took a deep breath. What if she set it loose? What would she do with it then? Nothing, especially with Uther's hatred of magic renewed. The king had excused his own weakness by hardening his heart even farther towards any use of magic. Camelot had been scoured for even the simply superstitious—amulets, pendants, charms, the smallest trinket, expunged.

If even a tiny object kept for luck engendered the king's wrath, what would full blown magic in his ward earn?

Morgana stood, secreting the knot. She couldn't ever let it take her. She toyed with her bracelet on her wrist, once a blessed relief now a shackle of confinement.

She walked to the door, picking up a basket on the table as she passed. Time for her daily visit to the lower town. Arthur had funneled his own demons into the love of his people. She smirked. Uther's employment of the whip to bring Arthur into line had caused the opposite effect; instead of subduing him, it turned his desires to discovering and remedying the king's failures. He'd mentioned to her a section of the lower town occupied by the poorer in their midst, those without adequate medical care or food. She had taken it upon herself to see to their aid with his blessing and financial support.

Morgana exited to the hall, but before she could take another step, Gwen came flying around the corner.

"Morgana!"

"Gwen. I thought I was to meet you in the courtyard."

"I couldn't wait."

"What's happened?"

Gwen smiled broadly. "Something good, my lady." Morgana stared at her quizzically. Gwen grasped her hand. "You had to be the first to know. Come with me."

* * *

The council started upon Arthur's arrival. Merlin laid out the requisite parchments, the one Arthur had spent most of last night fretting over on the very top. He observed the boy's nervous glance around the table as he took the seat next to him. Several members directed scornful looks at his servant. Arthur met their eyes and scowled back until they looked away. They only acted this way because his father did.

The first time he'd brought Merlin to a meeting Uther had protested Arthur could just obtain a copy from the court recorder, but Arthur had insisted on his own reports of the meetings. What warranted his attention might be of no consequence to his father. Merlin uncapped his ink bottle and set his quill inside, then smoothed down a blank parchment. His servant boy had been up to the task, a godsend in the meetings. He had but to flick his finger when something was mentioned and Merlin would jot it down immediately.

"The first order of business, your majesty," Lord Cozard, a long standing member of the council with curly gray hair flowing over his shoulders, began, "is the amount to be paid for the bounties on magical persons."

Merlin stiffened next to Arthur; he reached a hand below the table, patting the boy's knee to warn him. Merlin's eyes flickered to him and his expression relaxed. Arthur assumed Merlin felt trepidation about his intention to interrupt the proceedings. A couple weeks ago, his father had reinstated the practice of paying for sorcerers brought before his throne, something that hadn't been done since the end of the Purge. No bounty hunter had appeared as of yet, but word was traveling around Camelot.

"Father," Arthur piped up. "There is something I believe we should discuss before the price of the bounties."

The king's eyes slid over to him. He could feel the tension, even though his father tried to make things appear less strained than they were. "What is it?"

Arthur picked up the parchment in front of him. He nodded to Merlin who rose and handed a copy to his father, bowing as he did so. "Rules of trial. We must be assured that the people brought to us are indeed responsible for magic use."

"A fair hearing is already to be conducted for each."

"But only a cursory one and then swift execution," Arthur reminded his father and eyed the council as well. The consensus last time had determined an interview with the king and council sufficient for accusation and judgment. "If we are to pay out from the royal coffers for these bounties, let us be certain of the truth of them. I propose the following rules of trial." Arthur began to explain each one systematically. He didn't reveal that Merlin had been the one to direct his thoughts to rules in the first place.

After the last meeting, Merlin had made an offhand comment about how easy it would be to accuse an innocent person, and Arthur had found his insistence on his servant's presence justified. He hadn't told Merlin he wanted him in the meetings for more than scribal work. Merlin was young and poor without years of court intrigue and ambition coloring his views of political matters. He could see things the nobles wouldn't, and Arthur coveted those fresh eyes.

Arthur finished his explanation, and the inevitable arguing began, point and counterpoint. Through it all, his father sat silently, sullen eyes on him and on Merlin. Arthur shifted in his seat, newly formed skin stretching in places along his back. Three months and he still felt the effects of his punishment, a constant reminder that his relationship with his father bore scars as well, ones he really had no motivation to heal.

* * *

Gwen paused with her hand on the door handle of her home, looking over at her mistress. "I'm so happy for you."

Morgana frowned quizzically. "What have you done?"

"Nothing. It happened all on its own. I know you gave up after that creature took us." Gwen reached over to squeeze her hand. They'd spent long nights sharing about the voice they had heard and the helplessness of being used. How unnerving and terrifying it had been to lose all they were.

"Gave up?"

Gwen opened the door and shuffled Morgana inside. She froze as a man rose from the table, darkly bearded, tanned of skin, hair longer than it had been, but his dark eyes the same ones that had met hers a thousand times and proclaimed undying commitment.

"Lancelot," she breathed out.

He smiled slowly, hairy cheeks lifting. "Morgana."

She didn't care what he looked like. She ran to him, flinging her arms around him. He held her close, but tentatively, as if he couldn't believe she was in his arms. She buried her face in his neck, unbidden tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. She breathed in his smell, the sweat of a knight she'd once relished mingled with earthiness and wild, fresh air. She loved it, and for a moment, all was right with her world. "I looked for you," she choked out. "For months."

Lancelot ran a hand in circles on her back. "I am aware, but I couldn't let you find me."

Morgana pulled back from him, still in his arms, peering into eyes brimming with tears of their own. "You knew?"

"I was told. It was too dangerous for me to appear to you."

Morgana gripped his shoulders. "You don't have to fear Uther over me."

"I don't fear him." Lancelot cupped her chin in his hands. He gently kissed her lips, and she responded, drinking him in, even the new sensation of his beard hair brushing her nose a delight. Morgana heard the door open and close, but didn't realize Gwen had left until Lancelot broke their kiss and tenderly pressed her into a seat at the table. He settled in across from her, and she noticed something else different, a leather cord dangling from his neck. His fingers slid underneath his shirt momentarily, she assumed touching whatever pendant hung from it.

Morgana spoke softly. "Why did you leave me?"

Lancelot swallowed visibly. "To go somewhere you couldn't."

"Where?"

"It cannot tell you yet."

The words stung even though they were spoken kindly. "You were the only one who knew the truth, and you just left, and you won't tell me where you went?"

Lancelot scratched at his beard. "I am so sorry. Gwen told me what happened to you. That I wasn't here to stop it..." He broke off.

"I felt abandoned," Morgana accused.

Lancelot's eyes grew deeply sorrowful. "I did it for you."

"What do you mean?"

"How much do you trust me?"

"It isn't like you to speak in riddles."

"What I'm about to do will risk your life."

Morgana's brow creased. "My life?"

Lancelot stretched across the table, gripping both of her hands tightly. "I would not do this if there were any other way."

Morgana pulled her hands away. "You're scaring me."

"I don't mean to. You told me your secret. I trusted your visions. Now I need _your_ trust. You have to believe I care only for your welfare."

Morgana stared into his eyes. "Of course I trust you."

He stood and moved to her side, holding out his hand. "Come with me."

"Where?"

"To the woods."

* * *

The meeting had been contentious, but Merlin was used to that. He didn't write much. Most of the discussion was a rehashing of the bounties and arguing about Arthur's proposed rules. In the end, most of them were accepted with some revision.

Merlin felt relief when they left the chamber. He liked being at Arthur's side; he hated the oppression of the council room. Uther's eyes when they fell on him chilled him to the bone, and all this talk about paying for captured sorcerers heightened its unnerving effect.

Arthur sighed as they wandered back to his chambers. "I'll need that ride now."

"Yeah," Merlin agreed.

"Even if it ends in the arena?"

Merlin shrugged. "Anything's better than the council."

"At least they accepted most of the rules."

"It's good, you know, the rules for the trials. I...I'm glad you thought of it," Merlin complimented.

"I suppose if I have your approval, that's all that matters." Arthur smiled thinly and Merlin knew it was partly a joke; his approval didn't count for anything in the council room. "You were the one who mentioned in the first place."

It wasn't exactly true. When he'd wondered aloud how many captured magic users would be innocent, he hadn't meant innocent of magic, but that they used magic innocently. Arthur had taken it a different way and then worked on the proposal for the rules. And although Arthur's rules didn't allow for magic to be used for good, their employ would at least provide an opportunity for those captured to prove claims unjustified against them. They had a chance of salvation.

When they reached the prince's chamber, Arthur ordered him to put the parchments away and meet him at the stables. Merlin did so quickly, then proceeded to his own room to pick up his bag.

Gaius watched him pass, calling after him. "How was the meeting?"

"Fine," Merlin shouted as he packed up his satchel and slung it over his head. "They liked the rules mostly." He approached the window, jumping up on a crate to lean out. His eyes warmed gold as he whistled. Nero should hear even if he was several miles distant. He waited for a time, but the bird didn't show. Merlin frowned. He usually came within minutes. Unless he'd decided to go bother Kilgharrah again. Oh well.

He strode back through the chamber, Gaius looking up from his worktable. "Where are you off to?"

"Riding...and training." He pulled a face.

"It's good for you, Merlin."

"Yeah, yeah."

"But maybe you could convince Arthur to let you search for more yarrow and betony as well."

Merlin paused at the door. Of course. With Arthur it was always training and with Gaius always herbs. He glanced back. "I'll get them."

"Thank you, my boy."

Merlin reached the stables before Arthur, but that was unsurprising. The prince would take his time knowing Merlin would prepare their horses. He hung his bag on a peg and began saddling Lebryt and Brenner, Arthur's newest acquisition, black as night and solid muscle.

"Use magic."

Merlin's heart stuttered to a stop. No. He couldn't have been found out? He'd been so careful of late, not using it unless he had to. He carefully turned, seeking the owner of the voice. A blond boy his own age grinned at him.

"Will!"

"Hey, Merlin," his old friend returned, pushing out from the stall door he'd been leaning against.

Merlin ran to him and gripped his shoulders, looking him up and down. "You're so different." Will was taller, maybe an inch below him now, and suddenly muscular.

"You, too. You've never come back since...you know, the thing with your mom."

"Yeah, sorry. Why are you here?"

"Came with someone you know." Will's eyes glittered.

"Who?"

"Lancelot."

"Lancelot? He's back?" Merlin's head swiveled, scanning the stables. "Where?"

"At the inn. Or, he was. Told me to do whatever I wanted for a while."

"How did you find Lancelot?"

"He came to Ealdor."

Merlin stared. "Why?"

Will shrugged. "He stayed with your mom a while, and I hung around there sometimes. When he left, I followed him."

"Followed? You ran away?"

"I left a letter."

"Will!"

"You did, too, you know."

Merlin looked guiltily away. "Yeah, I guess."

"Anyway, by the time he caught me we were miles from Ealdor and he had to bring me along. He keeps threatening to take me back. I thought maybe I could be his squire."

"He's not a knight anymore."

"I know, but he's still teaching me."

Merlin looked back at the horses. "Arthur will be here soon. We're supposed to go riding, but he'll want to know about Lancelot."

"Yeah, eh, before he comes, I kind of need your help."

"What?"

"Lancelot—" Will's voice lowered. "He's been with the Druids."

"Druids?" Merlin asked in surprise.

Will nodded. "And I have a friend and he wasn't supposed to come with us, but he's here anyway. Lancelot doesn't know. I thought you could help me hide him."

"Where is he?"

Will stepped outside the stable door. "Mordred!"

A thin boy sporting tousled chestnut hair and draped in a forest green cloak slipped into the stables. Merlin startled. He was holding Nero, and his stormy blue eyes were boring right into him.

 _Hello, Emrys._

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I've gotten so many requests and ideas for plot developments for this story, I keep forgetting who mentioned them. I need to write them down! Anyway, someone suggested I bring Will back as Lancelot's squire. Let me know if you are reading this and it was you and I'll give you credit!


	55. Hidden

Merlin gaped at the boy about a head shorter than him, maybe a year younger, eyes honed in on him as a voice spoke in his mind, though no lips moved. "Y-you told him about me?" Merlin's accusing gaze turned to Will.

"Not really. Just mentioned we could trust you, that you'd been with Druids before."

Merlin's focus swiveled back to the boy. "How did you do that?" He'd only thought Kilgharrah could speak with him by mind.

 _Some druids can communicate without voice._

Will glanced between each of them in confusion. "Do what?"

Merlin looked at him. "He's talking to me."

Will's eyes widened and he turned his own attention to Mordred. "You can _talk_?"

 _Not to him. He can't hear me._

"He says you can't hear him," Merlin muttered.

Will marveled. "I thought...they said he was mute."

 _This bird is yours._ Mordred lifted his arm. Nero fluttered from it to Merlin's shoulder.

Merlin reached up to stroke Nero's head and saw his flight to the boy hiding behind a clump of bushes. He heard his own amplified whistle, but the kestrel stayed with the Druid. The boy's magic must be strong to keep Nero at his side. Will appeared, and the boy stood, moving towards the stables. So that was how Will found him.

A pair of voices drifting in from outside drew Merlin out of Nero's mind. One was Arthur's. He frantically ran to the door and peered out. Arthur was down the lane in conversation with the groom. His eyes snapped back to the Druid boy and his brow knit angrily. "This was stupid, Will. Arthur's right outside!" He'd noticed the Druid boy's tattoo on his neck, the swirling pattern a dead giveaway. If Arthur saw him, his life was forfeit.

"Come on!" Merlin spoke hurriedly, running for the side stable door. Will and the boy rushed after him.

* * *

Morgana held tightly to Lancelot's arm as if she might lose him again. Lancelot tried to reassure her, kissing her cheek. She smiled up at him and his heart leaped. Not a day of his self-imposed exile had passed that he did not miss her strength and wit. He'd been less without them, and now that she was at his side, he felt whole again.

They left the gates behind and he led her to a prearranged meeting place. The gem dangling from the cord around his neck burned warm against his skin. Aglain must have received his signal. The Druid elder was brave to come this close to Camelot simply to help a terrified woman. He paused in front of a crevice, turning Morgana and clasping her hands in his.

"I left Camelot for two reasons," he spoke softly.

Morgana's green eyes stared into his with the intent energy that had always inspired him to action.

"I couldn't be a knight under Uther. Already I have been a part of questionable missions, and I knew that some day I would be asked to do something I could not, and the worst of all would be hunting you down for your dreams."

Morgana's hands squeezed his and she swallowed hard.

"And I watched you suffer too much, living in fear of what is in you. I wanted to understand it, learn about it, and help you make peace with it. So I found the Druids."

Morgana blinked. "The Druids."

"People who embrace magic."

"But some have tried to kill the king," Morgana muttered.

"Those who have been expelled from their midst. They do not abide such people." He let go one of her hands to stroke her hair. "They know so much about magic. Uther has tried to destroy them all, but they still hide in groups here and there. They have not fled Camelot, even though you'd think they should."

"Why?"

"For the love of their kingdom. They would not give it up for a tyrant king."

"He's not a tyrant," Morgana whispered.

"Isn't he? Uther has been fair at times, but he has also been woefully unjust. You yourself have argued against the swift execution of magic users. He'd kill you. You know it."

Morgana withdrew trembling hands from his grip. "Why are you telling me this? You want me to leave the Citadel? Join the Druids?"

Lancelot grasped her right hand and pulled her behind him into the crevice. "I want you to stop living in fear." He walked several paces, then slowed when the pathway opened up into a natural hidden alcove. A man sitting on the far side rose and smiled.

"Lancelot."

Lancelot nodded his head. "Aglain." The man was middle aged, brown of skin, bald, his countenance kind and nonthreatening. He wore a simple red robe and his dark eyes fixed on Morgana as he introduced himself.

"Morgana. I am Aglain. Your visage reflects your mother."

Morgana glanced warily from Lancelot to the Druid. "You knew her?"

"She visited my mother when I was a youth."

"She knew a Druid?"

Agalin smiled gently. "Such a thing wasn't uncommon in the old days. Come and sit with me, and we can talk of her."

Morgana wandered to the rock Agalin sat upon and perched next to him. Lancelot remained on guard at the crevice. Morgana considered him for a moment, then turned her attention to the Druid. "My father told me little of her, just that he loved her deeply and she was a good woman. What do you know of her?"

* * *

Merlin often had to think on his feet and had already identified the closest escape near the prince's stables: a lesser known entrance to the catacombs below the citadel. Luck held and they made it to the entrance without meeting another soul. Merlin's gaze darted between Will and the Druid boy. He held his breath for a second. Will knew about his magic; Mordred knew he was Emrys, but it still felt awkward doing magic with two boys his own age standing right next to him.

His eyes gleamed gold and the lock clicked. He pressed it open and waved them inside hurriedly. At the same time he shook his shoulder to dislodge Nero. "You. Wait for me." The kestrel leaped off his arm, gliding back towards the stables. Merlin stepped through the entrance and locked the door behind him. Darkness descended until a light appeared resting in Mordred's palm. Merlin balked for a second, startled by the boy conjuring a flame as he could. He lit his own palm and Mordred smiled. He smiled back with half his mouth and shuffled ahead of them. "This way."

The halls twisted and turned like a jumbled maze, and here and there he swiped spider webs out of their way. He recalled when he'd first scrambled around these forgotten pathways in his second year. At first, he'd been afraid to set foot in an area of the dead, childhood tales of ghosts and skeletons rising to haunt the living dissuading him. But as he grew closer to Arthur and comfortable with his destiny, he'd decided a working knowledge of even the least desirable parts of the citadel was practical.

They reached a tiny side room. Merlin had wondered at its emptiness during his explorations. Most rooms in the catacombs contained sarcophagi of ancient kings and nobles. He'd supposed its purpose was lost to time and memory. "You'll be safe here," Merlin said as they passed inside. "No one comes down here anymore."

Mordred paced the walls, hand raised, scanning them with the glow of his flame. Paintings of people laboring in various common activities adorned the space. Merlin had thought maybe they depicted those meant to serve the courts of old in death.

"I can bring you supplies," Merlin continued. "Food and water. Firewood."

Mordred turned. _Thank you, Emrys._

"Yeah, erm, okay. Don't leave."

The boy didn't answer, just turned away.

"You want me to stay?" Will asked. Mordred shook his head. Will walked up to him, taking his shoulder. "Lancelot will get her back."

Mordred only smiled and Will nodded as if he understood.

"Just don't do anything unless you have to. Promise?"

Mordred nodded again. Will backed up and left the room. Merlin hovered in the doorway, staring at the only child he'd met that shared his gifts. Well, children in the Druid camp must have, but they'd been closed to him when he'd shown up, and he'd only had a few days to know them before Arthur and Uther's knights took the camp. It felt like a lifetime ago, and unwilling images of Druid children slaughtered came to mind. Well, this Druid wouldn't meet the same fate.

Merlin made his way back to the surface. Will trudged next to him, and he shifted his gaze to his friend. "It's dangerous to hang out with Druids."

Will rolled his eyes. "And how dangerous is it to hang out right under the king's nose?"

"You could get killed!"

"You could, too."

Merlin sighed loudly. "You need to tell him to go back home."

Will bit his lip. "He won't."

Merlin stopped and grasped Will's arm, turning him to face him. "This is _Camelot_. I saw Uther's knights kill an entire camp of Druids! He needs to leave."

Will's eyes burned steel. "He's only trying to save someone. If you knew Arthur was in trouble, would you leave him?"

Merlin dropped his hand from Will's arm. "You know I wouldn't."

"Well, he can't leave her either. They've taken care of each other."

Merlin considered Will. He'd always been outspoken, but there was something else now, a roughened edge to his eyes and voice. Merlin blew out a breath. "Well, then, we have to find whoever it is and get _both_ of them out of here."

Will rubbed a finger over his lips, then nibbled at a nail. Merlin recognized the telltale sign, a habit his friend had displayed since they were children. He halted as they reached the exit.

"What _aren't_ you telling me?"

Will hesitated, but then sighed. "It's Lancelot's mission. It's why he's back, and I'm supposed to just stay out of it _and_ keep quiet about it."

Merlin suppressed the urge to smile. Kind of like Arthur, then, since he kept inserting himself into the prince's problems. His urge resolved into a frown. Will didn't have magic. And this Mordred, Druid or no, couldn't show his face. Anything they did would be fraught with danger.

Merlin unlocked the door and cautiously swung it open to peek outside. No one. They stepped out and Merlin shut it, then locked it with a thought. He spoke with all the authority he could muster. "Then _don't_ pursue this. If Lancelot's on a mission, let him handle it."

Will pocketed his hands and glanced anxiously back at the catacomb door. Merlin read the gaze and it bothered him to his soul. Will might try to keep out of it, but who knew if this Mordred could.

* * *

Arthur had finished saddling Brenner, then moved on to Lebryt, grumbling all the while. Where in the world had Merlin got to? His bag hung on the peg by the door, so he'd made it to the stables, and his pet bird was strutting back and forth along the stalls.

That boy. Arthur relied on him, would trust him with his life, but he was also so impulsive. He'd tempered a bit over the last three years, but still, his unpredictably continued to put Arthur on edge. He was far less Merlin's master than anyone realized. The boy was beholden to him out of choice, not duty or need. He snickered, thinking of the lanky twelve year old as he'd first encountered him, claiming he could be useful and falling all over himself to prove it.

Arthur paused when he finished saddling Lebryt. He turned back to Brenner, rubbing at his well muscled neck and pulling an apple he'd snatched from the fruit bowl as he left his chambers out of his pocket. The horse munched, and Arthur stared over his back at the stable door. How he'd been so blessed with Merlin was beyond him. No one in his life had equaled the boy. Whip scars stretched in places along his back as Arthur went about securing Brenner's bridle. His father had betrayed his trust in the worst way, leaving daily reminders. Arthur would have felt lost if Merlin hadn't filled in the hole vacated by the man he'd thought he'd respected.

Arthur heard pounding feet and looked up, unsurprised when Merlin came barreling through the door. "So, care to show up, do you?"

Merlin mumbled, "Sorry," and moved to Lebryt, then stopped. "He's saddled."

"I _am_ capable, Merlin," Arthur stated. "But maybe you need a reminder not to neglect orders. Mucking out the stables tonight should do it."

Merlin stared, mouth open. "What?"

"I'm sure the groom would welcome another boy on the job."

"Arthur, I..."

Arthur worked to keep a smile off his face. "However, if you have a good enough excuse, I might relent." The boy was just so easy to tease. Sometimes he wondered if he shouldn't take advantage of such innocent faith, but it was too fun.

"Eh, I...I..."

Arthur eyed him suspiciously. "What have you been up to?"

"Lancelot's back!" Merlin blurted.

Now it was Arthur's turn to be taken aback. "You saw him?"

"Will."

Arthur cocked his head.

"My friend from Ealdor."

Oh. Right. The blond kid.

"He's with Lancelot. Lancelot went to Ealdor, and then Will kind of followed him when he left."

Arthur glanced at Brenner. He wanted to ride, but... "I should go see him."

"Will said they're staying at the inn, but Lancelot wasn't there right now.

Arthur nodded once. "Mount up, then." As Merlin retrieved his bag and obeyed, Nero flew to perch on Lebryt's head right behind the patient horse's twitching ears. Arthur put his foot in the stirrup, swinging up into the saddle, reflecting. Lancelot back. His closest friend before Merlin, a loyal and good knight, but forbidden to step foot in the citadel. Where had he gone? And why? Arthur determined to track Lancelot down as soon as they returned from their ride.

* * *

Morgana tried to gauge the intentions of the Druid sitting next to her. Lancelot remained on watch near the crevice. They shouldn't be here. Consorting with Druids was punishable by death. If she was caught, or Lancelot...

"May I?" Aglain's hand hovered over her own.

"Why?"

"I can tell how strong your mother's gift is in you."

"Gift?" Certainly a curse. It had to be.

"I will not hurt you." His voice was so compassionate, Morgana trusted him instinctively, even though she'd always been one for skepticism. She nodded. His hand curled around hers, firm, sure, and tingling. Morgana bit back a gasp. Something vibrated between her and this man. Aglain closed his eyes. "It is there. Quite strong. But, something is wrong with it." He opened his eyes and slid his hand to her bracelet. "This is suppressing it."

Morgana pulled her hand into her chest, protecting her only relief. "I had dreams. This is the only way I can sleep."

Aglain nodded sorrowfully. "I am sorry. If your gift had been identified earlier, you could have been trained in it and would not have suffered."

"Trained?"

"Your mother was a seer."

The pulse in Morgana's neck throbbed. "She...had magic?"

"Only seeing as far as I know. She used her gift when she visited us once. I did not see her do it, but I knew of it."

This couldn't be right. Her mother wasn't a seer, just a normal woman, loved by her father. "This isn't true."

"I wish it had not been kept from you, but I do not lie. Seeing can pass from mother to daughter. You have this gift. Lancelot has told us of your visions. They are magic as you have suspected, but you do not have to fear them."

Morgana and clasped her shaking hands in her lap. "I've always been taught that magic is evil, that it corrupts your soul, but I didn't wholly believe it."

Aglain smiled. "Uther thinks decreeing magic's evil can make it so, but your instinct is correct. Magic isn't a dark art that must be shrouded in secrecy. It can be a force for good, and in time, you can learn how to wield it."

"In time?"

Aglain glanced at Lancelot. "He has not told you. I offer myself as your guide, your counselor. You can control your gift. Use it, not be ruled by it."

The living knot flamed inside, begging for its release. It wasn't just seeing; it was more. Cut it. Let it free. No! A voice screamed, _You are the beginning of a new day and Uther's doom! His death will be on your hands!_ The vision from the cave assaulted her once again, herself guilt ridden, clutching Arthur in front of Uther's corpse. _Sister!_

Morgana abruptly stood. She had never approved of Uther's treatment of magic users, but she would not be his doom, and everything within her knew to take another step would seal both their fates. "I don't wish to learn. Leave me alone!"

She turned, dashing away. Lancelot reached out for her, but she pushed past him into the crevice.

* * *

Merlin rode behind Arthur, stomach roiling over his audacity to secret a Druid in the catacombs. He'd done a lot of dangerous things, but this had to be the worst. Facing a troll and goblin, alright that was bad, but he wasn't fighting anything this time. He was breaking the law pure and simple. Well, besides existing. That broke it, obviously, but he couldn't help that.

He thought of his short time with the Druids, kind, accommodating, tense. Those looks sent his way. Emrys. He had guessed they knew who he was, and Mordred's declaration confirmed it. He wondered why they hadn't said anything to him back then. Wary, maybe. After all, Camelot knights had appeared and destroyed them.

Merlin worried his lip as he stared at Arthur's back. The Dragon Man. Just a figment of his mind at the time, now a living, breathing person, honorable, brave, bold, and guilty. He'd led the raid on Druid innocents. He wanted to arrest them, not massacre them, but still, if he'd had his way, they'd have been brought back to Camelot and then what? He couldn't have been so naive to think his father would let them live, could he?

Merlin remembered asking Arthur once if he'd hate him if he had magic, and Arthur had only replied, "You can't trust those who use magic. You never know when they'll turn on you." If Mordred were discovered, would Arthur let him die?

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"If we found a child with magic, what would you do?"

Arthur glanced over his shoulder. "What?"

"I was just wondering, you know, the bounties. What if they bring a child?"

Arthur turned back, but didn't say anything.

"I mean, it wouldn't be their fault, would it? That they'd just been taught it growing up?"

Brenner began to slow and Merlin guessed because Arthur had tightened his hands on the reins, unintentionally pulling back. "You're thinking of your mother. What if she taught you."

"Well, what if she had?"

Arthur didn't speak for a moment, then, "If she'd taught you, the witchfinder would have tortured you until you admitted the truth, and you would have been set on a pyre." He replied so sharply as if afraid Merlin meant to confess, and he was warning him not to speak any farther.

"Yeah, but..."

"Merlin!" Arthur reprimanded. "We will not have to consider such things unless they happen." He turned away, kicking Brenner into a gallop.

Merlin followed, but allowed himself a small sense of relief. Arthur wouldn't kill a child outright.

Arthur's horse slowed then stopped. Merlin drew alongside him and followed his eyes. Through the trees, two people were visible. One was Morgana, sprinting as if being chased and behind her was a bearded man, clothed in a blue cloak, but even so, his gait gave him away: Lancelot.


	56. Magic's Burden

Arthur turned Brenner, treading a path through woody brush, hearing Merlin do the same.

"Lancelot!"

His old friend halted. Morgana hadn't stopped, fleeing, as it seemed to him, in the direction of the city. Lancelot stood his ground, guilt and worry creasing his brow as Arthur approached and dismounted. He gripped Lancelot's wrist and clapped him on the back.

"You've returned. Merlin told me."

"Oh?" Lancelot looked to the servant. "Merlin?"

"I saw Will."

Lancelot nodded thoughtfully. "Of course." The boy swung off his own saddle and smiled at the former knight, who placed a hand on his shoulder. "Seven months and you're almost as tall as me."

Arthur glanced after Morgana, but she had already disappeared. "She searched for you."

Lancelot sighed heavily. "I know."

Arthur turned encouraging eyes on his friend. "She'll forgive you. Give her time."

"She still loves you," Merlin insisted.

Arthur smiled thinly. "Because of that," he said, jerking his thumb at his servant boy.

"I know that, too," Lancelot muttered softly.

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. "Where have you been?"

"Here and there."

Arthur noticed his gaze flick to Merlin for just a moment, as if some secret passed between them. He narrowed his eyes. "Did you tell Merlin where you went?"

Lancelot shook his head. "But, I did visit Ealdor, though I think you know that now."

"Will told me," Merlin confirmed. "You're teaching him."

Lancelot chuckled. "Only because he tags along. I've argued with him about going back a thousand times. I'm not a knight and can provide little for him."

Arthur pursed his lips. "I wish you'd told me what you were going to do. What was it? Why leave all you ever worked for?"

Lancelot met his eyes, distress evident. "I think you might know the answer already."

"How so?"

"I met some friends of yours. Three men."

"Who?"

"Well, one I already knew, though seeing him was odd. He'd been gone so long from Camelot."

Arthur tilted his head.

"Elyan. And Gwaine and Percival?"

Arthur shook his head in disbelief. "How did you meet them?"

"My last stop in Ealdor. They said they'd been sent there by Merlin." Lancelot smiled at the grinning boy, then sobered. "They told me a story about Camelot. About you. And I'm sorry I wasn't here to stop what happened."

Arthur drew in a long breath, hating the memories. "The troll and goblin."

"And your father's unjust punishment."

Arthur swallowed hard. Although a day didn't go by he didn't remember his father's injustice, he didn't like to speak about it so openly.

"I couldn't serve him anymore."

Arthur ground his jaw. Despite his turbulent feelings towards his father, he was still loyal to the crown. "I understand," he spoke stiffly.

Lancelot touched his shoulder lightly. "I can't serve Uther, but I trust the day will come when I can follow a king of Camelot I believe in."

Arthur blinked away unbidden moisture. So long they had been friends. As children, they'd been simple acquaintances until the day Lancelot fell into a river. Arthur disregarded his own safety, braving the frigid, raging waters to rescue the drowning boy. All strength was sapped from him as he wrestled the boy to shore, and a vicious sickness had struck him down for weeks after. He could never forget when he finally emerged from his chamber being met by Lancelot in the hall, who knelt to one knee and swore fidelity to him.

Arthur unfolded his arms and clutched Lancelot's wrist. "I will always have you."

Lancelot nodded once, then eyed Merlin with a grin. "I saw someone else in Ealdor."

"Who?" Merlin asked.

"Your father."

Merlin's grin lifted to his eyes.

"He's been there frequently, I gather. You should go see them. They miss you."

Merlin's grin faded a little. "Yeah."

Arthur reached over to ruffle Merlin's hair. "Maybe we need to plan a trip next month."

"Really?"

"If I can spare the time." He looked back at Lancelot. "We're out for a ride, then to practice in the arena. You're welcome to join us."

"Not now." Lancelot glanced back where Morgana had last been.

"Ah. Yes," Arthur said.

"But, Merlin." Lancelot's gaze moved to the boy again. "I'd like to see you later. Come to the inn?"

"Sure."

"Tonight then?"

"Okay."

Those covert looks passed between them once more. Merlin had been close friends with Lancelot before he left, but Arthur still wondered what was between them that he had no part in.

* * *

Morgana heard Lancelot running behind her for a time, then his footfalls ceased. She continued on until she reached the east gate of the citadel. She paused, recovering her breath. A guard stationed on watch moved to aid her, but she waved him off. She stepped towards the gate, then hesitated. Lancelot couldn't follow by order of the king. She took a few steps and turned. He wasn't there anyway.

Her head drooped, and she crossed to the citadel and into secure halls, making for her chamber. Her hands were still shaking. And that knot! It writhed inside her as if the Druid's connection hadn't departed. A wave of nausea crashed through her, and she leaned her cheek into cold stone wall. She closed her eyes. Why hadn't her father told her her mother had been a seer?

The answer came immediately―protection. Uther on a rampage after magic. Her father wouldn't have risked her knowing the truth. Maybe he hoped she didn't even possess her mother's ability. Or maybe, he suspected...

The day a Camelot knight had appeared on their doorstep played through her mind, the stab to her heart as a maid answered and she overheard the dispassionate messenger reporting that her father had died at a skirmish on the border between Gwynedd and Camelot. She'd collapsed, the maid cradling her in worry as his last words rang in her ears, "Be strong, Morgana." And so she had. She cried when alone, hiding all outward grief to fulfill his last request.

Morgana let slip a tear. "You should have told me," she whispered to a man whose existence had passed long ago from this world. She could have borne it. She had the strength to subdue it. And she would not give in to it.

"Morgana!"

Morgana opened her eyes to see Gwen coming down the hall. The girl rushed up to her and clasped her by the hand. "What's happened?"

"Lancelot... He... Gwen, I can't."

The girl opened her mouth to speak, but then voices drifted from down the hall and she guided Morgana to her chamber, settling her in a comfortable chair and pouring a goblet of wine from a pitcher on a side table. "Sip this, my lady."

Morgana obeyed. Her stomach calmed and the knot stilled. She recovered her breath, staring up at her maid's compassionate brown eyes. What would she have done without Gwen in her life? She was so much more valuable than any other maid. She recalled when she questioned Gwen regarding magic, and the girl had promised to serve her even if she had it, though she resisted any assumption that her mistress' dreams were indeed magical.

"Lancelot and I had a disagreement," Morgana explained, her voice steady now. For a fleeting moment she'd thought to tell the girl the truth, but no. Her father had kept the truth from her to protect her, and she must do the same for Gwen. The girl loved Arthur, and Arthur upheld his father's views on magic. She wouldn't make Gwen choose between them.

Gwen firmed her jaw and crouched down in front of Morgana, taking her hands in her own. "He does love you. He told me so. He wanted to see you so much."

Morgana nodded absently.

"Sometimes, after a time apart, it can be difficult to renew intimacy. You've had trying times so recently and maybe he has, too. Take time. I am sure you can find each other's hearts again."

Morgana let the girl's words soothe her and leaned back in her chair, resting her head against its high back. Gwen took the goblet from her hand and set it on the table. "You may go, Gwen. Thank you."

"My lady." The door opened and closed.

Morgana kept her focus on the light streaming through her window, drawing Lancelot in her mind, the new man with the beard and weathered skin, but their kiss as passionate as it had always been. She placed her fingers to her lips. She wanted him to her very soul. Why did he have to complicate everything by dragging the Druids into her private struggle?

* * *

Merlin slunk around the citadel walls, keeping to shadows, shifting the weight on his back. If anyone saw him, suspicion would arouse, a servant boy sneaking around at night with a bulging pack. Not that they'd arrest him, but they'd ask and probably drag him to Arthur, and then Arthur would ask and he'd have to come up with another stupid lie and pray Arthur believed it.

Merlin sighed. Lying to Arthur got harder every day. Not the words. Habit made those roll easily off his tongue. It was the continually breaking Arthur's trust, and this? Hiding a Druid? Arthur would have his head if he had any inkling.

Merlin huffed in frustration. He wished Arthur could progress faster. He'd changed, yes, was still changing, now seeing the chinks in his father's rule. But magic's freedom and peace for all in Camelot? Not yet. He just wanted to be able to tell him, remove the cloud of lies and secrets that shadowed so much of his interaction with the prince.

Merlin reached the neglected catacomb door, unlocked it, and slipped inside. He stuck his thumbs through the straps of his pack and began the twisting journey to the small side room, calling a light into existence that floated before him to illumine his path. His muscles ached. Arthur had kept good on his word to practice in the arena after their ride. He'd aimed and swung so much with his sword it felt like his arm had disconnected from its socket. Still, he'd done better, Arthur satisfied.

As he approached the side room, he listened, but no sound manifested. He paused before the entryway. "Mordred?"

 _I'm here._

He moved inside. His light brightened the space, and he beheld the boy standing as if waiting for him. Merlin removed his pack. He untied the firewood bundle first, setting it aside, then unbuckled the top flap of the pack and dug inside. "The wood will last for a time if you use it sparingly. There's food here, too, and I'm sorry I didn't get it to you sooner, but it should last you through tomorrow afternoon." As he spoke, he lay out several covered cloths.

 _Thank you._ Mordred moved close, snatching up a cloth, unwrapping it and eating the meat within.

Merlin pulled out a blanket. "I have this, too. No pillow, though. None to take without it being suspicious." He sat back on his heels, biting his lip. "Mordred?" The boy looked to him. "You need to leave."

 _Now?_

"No, I mean, you can't stay in Camelot. It's dangerous."

Mordred turned his attention back to his meal. _I won't leave._

"Will told me you want to save someone." Mordred didn't look up. "And he also said it was Lancelot's mission. So just let Lancelot take care of it. Okay?"

 _I have a friend. She needs help._

"Yeah, but―"

 _A bounty hunter took her. They'll kill her._

Merlin's breath caught in his throat. "She's being brought here for a bounty?"

Mordred's eyes burned. _Her magic's weak. She wasn't born with it like us. She isn't a threat._

"You were born with magic?" Merlin whispered.

Mordred nodded, his wide blue eyes dark and wild. _My mother let me use it. We were caught and she was killed for it. I escaped._ The voice in Merlin's mind was bitter. _I won't let Uther kill my friend._

Merlin worried his lip. He understood, he did, but there was still a better way. "You can trust Lancelot. Give him a chance before you expose yourself. Please?"

Mordred stared at him for several seconds, then nodded again. Merlin picked up the now empty pack. "I need to get going. I don't want to be gone too long." He made his way to the entrance, but the boy's voice sounded in his mind once more.

 _How long are you going to wait?_

Merlin turned. "What?"

 _We talk about you. Mighty Emrys. You're to unite Albion. Make us free. When?_

Merlin shrugged. "I'm not sure."

 _Why?_

"Well, the prophecy. I mean, Arthur's coming around. He will."

 _We have magic and we can't get rid of it. You have a duty to us._

Merlin's brow furrowed at the antagonistic tone and the daggers coming from the boy's eyes.

 _You can stop them, those that murder our kind. You can destroy them and set us free. You have the power, right?_

Merlin took a step back, shocked. "Kill them?"

Mordred nodded. _Why do you wait? They're not going to change._

"I'm not going to kill anyone," Merlin spluttered.

Mordred rolled his eyes.

"What do you know of it?" Merlin snapped, now feeling like he wanted to punch the younger boy. "I'm Emrys, not you."

 _If I were Emrys, magic would already be free._

Merlin ground his jaw. "It will be. Some day."

 _And how many will die before that happens? We're dying while you serve them!_

Merlin turned, clenched fists at his sides, fleeing before he actually did hit the Druid. A last statement taunted him as he retraced his steps to the surface.

 _What are you scared of, Emrys?_

* * *

Will opened the door when Merlin knocked at the third room on the upper level of the inn. "Hey!"

"Hi," Merlin returned. Lancelot gestured him inside from his seat at a small table against the far wall.

"Merlin," Lancelot greeted. "Join us."

As Will retook his seat, Merlin pulled another chair over and slumped down into it. Will went back to his evening meal, only a couple bits of some vegetable mash left in a bowl.

"Something wrong?" Lancelot inquired as he ran an eye over him.

"Not really," Merlin mumbled, keeping Will's secret for now, but stewing over his encounter with Mordred.

"Are you upset I left?"

Merlin shook his head. "But, why did you?"

Lancelot turned to Will, noting his empty bowl. "Will, can you see to Pomers? Make sure he's taken care of properly for the night?"

Will licked at his spoon and paused with his tongue stuck out humorously as Lancelot nodded his head to the door pointedly. "O-kay." He dropped the spoon in his bowl, and tromped to the door and out.

"He knows about my magic," Merlin informed his friend. "You don't have to hide it from him."

A smile crept up onto Lancelot's lips. "Your abilities came up when we met the Druids. Will was a little surprised I was seeking them, and we might have discussed you at some point."

"You sought them?"

"I needed to learn about seeing," Lancelot stated quietly.

Everything suddenly fell into place. "Morgana."

"I had to find someone who knew what seeing was and could share their knowledge with me. I want to help her."

"Can you?" Merlin asked with concern.

"Not me. Someone else."

"Who?"

Lancelot leaned across the table. "You."

"Me?" Merlin sat up straighter. He shook his head vehemently. He'd had enough of seeing when he'd experienced Morgana's vision of Arthur at the tournament, not to mention the overwhelming Crystal Cave.

"I brought a Druid elder to her. He can aid her. Teach her."

Merlin wrung his hands in his lap. "We decided she couldn't ever know."

"I can't watch her struggle. She's terrified, Merlin."

"I thought her visions had stopped."

"You know how strong she is. She hides them from most everyone, but she still has them and they cause her so much fear and doubt."

Merlin admired Morgana, enjoyed her company and friendship. She was as strong as Arthur and even more stubborn. Lancelot was right; she could hide anything if she wanted to, and that she'd been suffering and he didn't know burdened his already tumultuous heart.

"She wouldn't listen to the elder. She refused his aid. You could convince her. Show her she doesn't have to fear magic."

Merlin gripped the edge of the table with his fingers. "I can't tell her about my magic."

Lancelot pushed back in his chair. "I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't think it was time."

Merlin folded his arms over his chest. "Do you know what happened to Gwen when the goblin was here?"

"Elyan said it possessed her. She was wounded. Look, if I'd been here..."

" _I_ wounded her."

Lancelot closed his mouth.

Merlin gulped. "We had to make the goblin leave, think it was dying. I hurt her. But it only happened because I asked her to help anyway. I told her about the goblin. And Morgana followed me to the troll when I sensed it in the forest and the goblin took her. If she knows about me... She can't know. She'll get hurt."

"Merlin," Lancelot admonished gently. "You're a good soul, but she needs you. I don't think you can keep her from hurt by not telling her. You could quiet her fear. And if she learned how to manage her seeing, it could change everything for her."

Merlin abruptly stood. "I'm _not_ telling anyone else. It's bad enough you and Will and Gaius know. _You_ even got hurt at the tournament trying to stop Arthur!"

Lancelot matched him, rising to his feet. "I made my own choice to help, and I'm guessing Gwen did, too. Because we care. You can't take that from us."

Merlin's brows scrunched together in determination. He could very well try. "I _won't_ tell her." He made a beeline for the door, but his arm was caught before he made it halfway.

"I'm not going to force you to tell her, but think on it."

Merlin pulled at his arm.

"I need another thing from you."

Merlin finally wrenched his arm away. "What?"

"I came here for Morgana, but there's also something else. A girl was taken from the Druid camp I visited. I said I'd get her back. She's with a bounty hunter named Halig. You don't have to do anything except listen. Last I could tell, he was headed here and with Uther's new decree for bounties, it makes sense. If you hear of him, let me know?"

Merlin stared into Lancelot's intense blue eyes, the trust he'd earned emanating from the man's gaze. Lancelot had always given him the benefit of the doubt, accepted him. He wished he could take his burden away and help Morgana, but that was out of the question. However, the Druid girl...

"I'll let you know if I hear anything." He had just opened the door when Lancelot spoke apologetically behind him.

"It is good to see you again, Merlin. And I am sorry I wasn't here to help you."

Merlin paused, looking over his shoulder. "It's okay. Really."

* * *

Merlin stewed as he trudged towards the stables behind the inn. Everything was always a crisis around here, and for some reason, he was always in the middle of it. First this Druid boy and then Morgana and now a Druid girl. His mind swirled, assaulting him with failure and indecision. By the time he found Will brushing down Lancelot's steed, he was fed up.

"Mordred told me he wouldn't leave. You need to make him go."

Will looked up in surprise.

"I'm serious, Will." His hands perched on his hips. "I can't hide him. I have duties and stuff to do and he isn't really safe."

Will's face turned stony and he lowered the brush. "What's wrong with you?"

"This is Camelot, not Ealdor," Merlin went on. "And it's Arthur I'm supposed to worry about, not Druids or bounties or anything else!" Or Morgana, when it came down to it.

"Lancelot told you." Will thrust the brush at him, waving it in his face. "So if a bounty hunter shows up with a Druid, you're just going to let her die?"

"What choice do I have?"

Will snarled and pushed passed him, the brush clattering into a pail tacked to the wall. "You've changed, Merlin. Fine. Go. I'll come to the door tomorrow morning and take him off your hands so you don't have to _care_ anymore."

Will stomped away. Merlin watched him go, heart pounding, face screwed up in anger. He leaned back against the frame of the stable door and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyelids. Mordred's words taunted him: _If I were Emrys, magic would already be free._

* * *

Gaius glanced up when the door to his chambers finally opened. "You've managed to make it home," he teased good-naturedly, but Merlin only stumbled to the table and sank down, flinging his arms onto the top and burying his head in them.

"Merlin? What's happened?"

The boy didn't reply. Gaius reached out to touch his head, smoothing his hair. "What is it?"

"Lancelot's back," the boy's muffled voice announced.

"He is?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

Merlin rolled his head back and forth. "I can't do it, Gaius."

"Do what?" Gaius withdrew his hand, concerned.

Merlin raised his head. "Magic won't ever be free, will it?" Gaius heard hopelessness in the boy's words. "Me and Morgana and the Druids, you, all of us, we'll just be stuck like this forever."

"Arthur will change things."

"What if he doesn't?" Merlin challenged.

"Merlin, you know the prophecy."

"Prophecy," Merlin scoffed. "I'm here! I'm Emrys! And nothing's happening. No, wait, it is happening. Uther wants to pay for sorcerers so he can execute them!" Merlin was suddenly on his feet. "And what can I do to help that?"

Gaius raised a hand, bobbing it for calm. "Merlin, please sit. Arthur's rules will help."

"They're not enough! Magic isn't a crime. What if someone's brought and they're going to be killed and Arthur...he lets it happen?"

"There is more to consider. The future of Albion."

"I don't care about Albion!" Merlin declared. "People like me are going to die, Gaius, and I'm supposed to sit back and watch? Just so I can protect Arthur? So he can keep on thinking magic is evil?"

"Please, Merlin. Let me explain something to you."

Merlin dashed towards his room without another word and his door slammed shut. Gaius placed a weary hand on his forehead. It wouldn't do to speak with the boy now, he was too upset. But in the morning, when light chased away the fears of the night, he'd reveal to Merlin how much he empathized, what it was like to walk the years and bear the burden of those very questions.

* * *

A wagon rattled down an overgrown path, rocking back and forth over the terrain, driven by a muscular man whose chin and cheeks boasted days of scruff. Flashes of light momentarily brightened the sky, exposing clouds roiling with the promise of violent summer rain. The man grumbled, shifting his wide-brimmed hat. Camelot was only a couple hours distant, but the rain would muddy the path and the wagon might mire down in the dark.

He pulled aside off the path to rocky ground, climbed down from his seat, and checked on his cargo. He struck the cage attached to the wagon with the handle of his horsewhip, frightening the wisp of a figure chained hand and foot. He grinned as the abomination visibly trembled. "No moon tonight," he taunted. No escape attempt this time.

The figure cowered against the bars as far away from the man as possible. Halig banged the bars a couple more times, then turned, rubbing at the day old wound on his cheek. He began making camp, glancing warily at the forest. So far, no one had seen him. He'd made a profession of bounty hunting and faced more than his share of those who tried to steal what he'd rightfully captured so they didn't have to do the work themselves. Few used this path through the woods. A secret known only to select thieving bandits, which he'd once been.

He glanced back at the cage, eyes fairly glittering in the dark. Tomorrow he'd hand this trouble over to Uther and earn enough riches to sustain his hedonism for an entire year.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Well, I've finally hit 56 chapters, which equals the longest fic I've written before this. So shocked. Never thought this fic would become my longest ever. Thank you, faithful readers, for keeping with me, reading, reviewing, and PMing. Your encouragement is such a joy for me!


	57. First Bounty

Merlin's eyelids fluttered open when prickly feet danced on his forehead. He swiped at the bird nipping at the strands of his bangs. "Nero," he groaned as he sat up, slid his legs off the bed, and stumbled to his desk. He retrieved a cloth bag and turned it over on the window sill, dumping another mouse Audrey had let him have once it had been killed and abandoned by an already satisfied cat. Nero flew to the sill, clawing at and devouring his meal. Merlin mounted the crate underneath the window, arms folded next to the bird as he stared out at the fluffy early morning clouds. Warm already, though a breeze from the north sent shivers down his back.

Merlin rested his chin on his arms. His ranting from last night came back to him along with a stab of guilt. Gaius shouldn't be the target of his burdens. He sighed, turning and jumping down to wash up. Soon after he slowly and repentantly shuffled down the steps from his room. Gaius smiled at him and moved to their shared table. "Finally, you arise." Merlin approached and his mouth dropped open to behold his favorite breakfast, fresh honey rolls and blackberries. He sat down dumbly as Gaius prepared a plate for him and passed it over.

"Why?" he managed as he bit eagerly into a roll. "I yelled at you."

"You did. But I understand why. What burdens you, Merlin, burdens me."

Merlin swallowed. "I'm sorry, Gaius."

"You always are. Eat. Let me tell you some of my own story."

Merlin stuffed the rest of the roll in his mouth and picked up another, caring not a jot how it stickied his fingers, gaze intent and ears honed.

"At the beginning of the Purge, after Arthur's birth, Uther first enacted laws against dark magic. Myself and several others were instrumental in guiding the restrictions he placed on sorcery. For a time, these were enough, until it was discovered that several had associated with the woman he blamed for the grief and loss of his heart."

"Nimeuh," Merlin said.

"Yes. Uther didn't even attempt to determine if the accused were guilty of dark magic or not. He simply ordered their execution for interacting with a traitor to the kingdom. This is what caused other sorcerers to rebel against him, even some of the peaceful Druids. Uther came to think all magic a corruption, even when the effects were good. He believes magic a temptation of darkness, and those who utilize it taint themselves. One taste of magic power, and their resistance is destroyed, their souls consumed by a dark path. To prevent his subjects from pursuing such a course, he outlawed magic indiscriminately."

Merlin popped several berries into his mouth.

"It was then I renounced my study of it. It was a difficult choice, though the correct one, I thought. I didn't agree with Uther, but I could continue medical study without it, and I was watching Arthur grow with a harsh and demanding father. I decided to do the best I could here, for the prince and the people, even when someone I loved begged me to leave."

Merlin stopped chewing. "You _loved_ someone?" Gaius and the idea of love had never crossed his mind.

"Long ago. We worked side by side in this very room, but she was gifted in magical remedies far more than me. We planned to marry. Then the Purge began and Uther demanded our renunciation of magic. We argued much over it, and whereas I decided to submit, she did not. She left Camelot, and it's a good thing, too. Uther ordered her arrest and execution."

"What happened to her?" Merlin asked breathlessly.

"I'm not sure," Gaius sighed. "I've always imagined she crossed out of Camelot and found somewhere safe to aid others with her great skill."

"Why didn't you go with her?"

Gaius studied at his lap. "Fear? Hope? Maybe a combination of the two." He looked up. "But staying put me in a difficult position. Uther killed many for magic, both bad and good practice. I rescued some."

"My father."

"Balinor was one, yes, but still, too many died and I did nothing. I am guilty, Merlin. The weight of my inaction has burdened me all these years."

"Gaius." Merlin couldn't say much more. His heart broke for his mentor.

Gaius' jaw locked in determination. "I do not want that for you. The prophecy does not mean you must let the innocent perish to remain faithful to Arthur. I will help you. We cannot let Uther carry out a second purge."

Merlin dropped the berries in his palm to his plate. "I'm hiding a Druid boy."

Gaius eyes grew wide. "You're what?"

"He followed Lancelot. Lancelot's been with Druids."

Gaius leaned back on the bench, face gone all fear and concern as he was wont to do when Merlin sprang things like this on him. "Why the Druids?"

Merlin shrugged. He'd betray Lancelot if he said too much. "But this boy sneaked into Camelot and Will asked me to hide him."

"Will?"

"A friend from Ealdor. Lancelot's training him kind of."

Gaius folded his arms across his chest. "It's too dangerous for a Druid here."

Merlin nodded, standing and turning to Gaius' water basin to rinse his hands. "Will's taking him away this morning." He grabbed a cloth and wrapped a roll and some berries in it. "And I need to go meet him."

"If you're caught..."

"I won't be."

"Merlin, let me..."

"No." Merlin's eye flashed at his mentor. "You can help me, Gaius, when there are others, but I did this and I'm taking care of it. Please don't worry." He dashed to the door and out.

* * *

Will was already sitting cross-legged in front of the catacomb door when Merlin arrived. His friend's anger apparently hadn't cooled, his brow darkening as Merlin approached. He hopped to his feet. Merlin passed his gaze over him and didn't say a word, opening the door with his magic and shutting it behind them after they entered. He lit his hand and proceeded through the tunnels, drawing in a long breath.

"Will, I didn't want to make you angry," Merlin began. He'd made up with Gaius, now it was Will's turn. When Will didn't respond, he continued. "I care about the Druids and the bounties, I do, but Mordred really shouldn't be here, even if this friend of his shows up. Lancelot can deal with it. You trust him to, right?"

"I just don't understand you, Merlin," Will murmured. "If it were you hidden away and you wanted to help someone, I wouldn't make you leave."

Merlin slowed, swiveling his head to meet his friend's confused gaze. "Mordred could die."

"So could you."

Merlin stopped walking, swinging around to face Will head on. "This isn't a game. It isn't Ealdor. Uther would burn Mordred at the stake without a thought. And you know why I have to be here, and it isn't the same."

"It's close enough," Will argued, though the tinge of pink in his cheeks gave away the chastising effect of Merlin's words.

Merlin grasped his friend's arm. "I can't let him stay. It endangers him and you and me and even Lancelot." _And I'm worried he'll do something ridiculously rash_ , Merlin added to himself. His conversation with Mordred had haunted him all last night. "It's best he go home and wait for Lancelot to bring his friend back."

Will stared at him for a few seconds, his face softened, though his eyes declared he still disagreed. "I'll take him like I promised."

"And make sure he gets out of Camelot?"

Will nodded.

"Good." Merlin proceeded along until they reached the small side room. "Mordred?" The Druid didn't respond. He stepped into the room, illuminating it with the light in his hand. His heart leaped into his throat.

"Where is he?" Will questioned as he pushed past Merlin and crouched down next to a rumpled blanket.

Merlin swallowed hard. Had Mordred fled of his own accord? Seen the sense in his argument last night? He wondered if the boy could hear his mind over distance like Kilgharrah. _Mordred?_

 _You would do nothing, so I have, Emrys._

Merlin's heart slammed into his ribs. _What are you doing? Mordred...Mordred!_ Merlin turned and ran back up the catacomb path, Will's confused voice shouting after him.

* * *

Lancelot had risen early, hoping to perhaps catch Morgana on the morning ride she habitually took to start her day. He thought she might intuit he'd be waiting for her to grace him with her presence. Then again, she might be angry enough to stay where he wasn't allowed to reach her.

He sighed as he paced the lane near the gate she'd depart from. No sign of her yet. He'd assumed Aglain's kind spirit and ways would make her glad of someone who could calm her fears; he'd miscalculated badly. His fists clenched, not in anger, but frustration. If she could but experience the community of the Druids, spend time with those like her. During his own time with them, he'd come to despise Uther for his continuing feud with magic. So much they could learn from these people about peace within and without.

 _I'm just one man, and a dispossessed one at that._ He didn't wield the necessary clout nor power to stop the king of Camelot. It would have to be Arthur one day he appealed to, and he prayed then Camelot would rest in the hands of a king that saw sense. He clung to the welcome news the three men had regaled him with in Ealdor. Arthur defying his father over the tax bolstered his hope. The good man inside his friend was beginning to fight back.

"Sir! Sir!"

Lancelot paused in his pacing to face a young lad rushing up to him, stopping and sucking in breath after breath. Lancelot's chest constricted. He'd employed this boy and three others to watch the main roads. "What is it?"

"Saw a man," the boy huffed out. "Near the tavern. With a girl...in a cage."

Lancelot dug into his pocket, shoving several coins into the boy's hand. He patted him on the shoulder as he backtracked towards the town. "Good, lad."

* * *

Mordred had pulled his cloak low over his face as he crouched down in an alleyway across from the tavern. He could hardly control the urge to abandon his hiding spot and openly use magic to free his friend entrapped in a cage. She cowered, frightened, dirty, soaked through with the morning rain that had poured while the rest of them slept.

Mordred stared down the men hanging around outside the tavern door. If they didn't carry their conversation elsewhere soon, he'd silence them permanently. He didn't have time to waste; the bounty hunter might appear any moment. One of the men reached out to the cage, smiling at his companions.

"She's magic he said," one of them warned.

"She might curse ya," another joked.

"Cowards," the one reaching out taunted.

The girl in the cage backed away. Mordred's eyes burned. The man suddenly pitched forward, banging his forehead into the cage. His friends laughed uproariously as he glared at them, then stomped off, them following. Now was his chance. He took a step, but was grabbed by the shoulder and yanked back into the alleyway, then swung around.

"Mordred! You shouldn't be here," a man admonished, scowling. Mordred scowled back. He'd not interacted with Lancelot much. Outsiders didn't belong with the Druids, and despite the claims that this one was honorable, Mordred harbored his doubts. Two of the camps he'd joined after he lost his parents had been attacked by men who wore Camelot red. He didn't trust even a former knight as far as he could throw him.

Mordred pulled away, but Lancelot grasped his arm instead, glaring into his eyes. "It's not safe for you here."

Mordred gestured at the girl in the cage.

"I'm going in. I'll find the bounty hunter and take care of it. You wait here for me."

But it was too late. The door creaked open, and both Mordred and Lancelot's attention was drawn to a muscular man readjusting a wide brimmed hat. He snarled at the girl in the cage. "Time to claim the reward, hm?" He cackled.

Mordred made to bolt into the lane. Lancelot dragged him back. The Druid turned, eyes aflame. Lancelot tumbled backwards into the alley.

* * *

Merlin ran, Will on his heels still apologizing. "I didn't know he'd do this, I swear."

"Well, he did. We need to find him. He's going to get us all killed."

"He wouldn't say anything about you," Will protested.

Merlin glanced at him. "How can you be sure about that?"

"I don't think he would."

"You can't even talk to him!"

"He's nice."

Merlin rolled his eyes and kept on dashing through the town. It was early enough not too many people dotted the lanes. "Nice doesn't mean much, Will."

"But..."

"Just keep looking." And then Merlin felt it, magic in use, and not far away either. He'd just rounded a bend in the road and saw a group of men tottering away from a wagon with a cage bolted to it. Merlin strode towards it, taking in the sight of a girl in a ragged torn dress, cringing, hands over her head. "That her?"

"Yeah," Will confirmed.

They'd just about reached the wagon when its owner emerged, said something to the girl, and began to climb up into the seat. Merlin felt the magic again. He darted to the alleyway just in time to see Lancelot thrown back, Mordred standing with his hand outstretched. His anger at the Druid overwhelmed him and he threw the boy against the wall, pinning him at the shoulders. "What did you do?"

 _Get off me!_ Mordred shouted in his mind.

Will had rushed to Lancelot who wasn't moving. "He's breathing." He turned scared eyes to the boy he'd befriended. "Mordred?"

 _We have to rescue her!_

Merlin heard the wagon rattling away. He pressed Mordred even tighter against the wall. "You'll get both yourself and her killed," he hissed.

 _Let me go!_

 _Stop!_ Merlin shouted as loud as he could in his head. _I'll take care of it! You can't be seen. Do you think I want you and her dead?_

Mordred's head dipped. _Emrys. Please._

Merlin's hands relaxed and the boy's shoulders slumped. "How's Lancelot?"

"He seems okay," Will said, coming to his side and looking down on Mordred. "How could you do that?"

Mordred's eyes stayed focused on Merlin but his expression went weak and helpless. _I can't let her die._

Merlin firmed his jaw, Gaius' conversation replaying in his mind. "She won't die."

 _Swear to me, Emrys._

"I promise I'll help her."

* * *

Arthur had been indulging in a lazy start to the day, the heavy curtains of his room allowing only a slip of light to filter in and decorate the wall by his desk. He yawned, stretched, and blinked as his eyes drifted to the lute laying upon it. He had retrieved it from the drawer he had kept it in for almost a year, waiting for the return of his friend. He meant to track Lancelot down today and hand it over to its rightful owner.

Three knocks sounded on his door in quick succession. He groaned. He had specifically ordered a servant _not_ be sent to him in the morning. He sat up, rubbing at his bare chest. Two more knocks and a tentative, "Sire?" Arthur pushed out of bed, grabbing his white sleeping shirt off the floor where he'd tossed it during the night and tugging it back over his head. He pulled open the door to reveal a wizened little man.

"What is it, Urien?" His father's manservant seemed to always take perverse pleasure in summoning him to meetings with his father, the only reason he'd be sent in the first place.

"The king requests your presence."

Arthur fingered his mussed hair. "No meeting's scheduled this morning."

"The king said to tell you they are your rules and if you want to see them followed you will be present."

Arthur stared in confusion. "What?"

"The rules on the trials for those brought in as bounty."

Arthur dropped his hand from his head. "Someone's been accused?"

"Just brought in," Urien confirmed.

Arthur nodded shortly. "I'll be there." He shut the door as Urien muttered something else under his breath, but he didn't care. He made his way to his curtains, flinging them open himself and squinting into the light. First bounty. He sighed. He'd have to hurry then to make it to the council chamber. His father's judgment in magic matters had always been swift.

* * *

Merlin left Will and Mordred to tend to Lancelot. He'd briefly assessed the former knight with his own skill and found him only knocked out. Mordred swore he hadn't intended harm, and Merlin believed him. Still, that the boy so easily attacked...well, the sooner both him and this girl were out of Camelot the better.

He didn't have a chance to attempt a rescue. Apparently the wagon had been seen by the watchmen on the walls, and a contingent of soldiers on horseback appeared as escort. Of course. Uther would take no chances with sorcerers brought into his citadel.

Merlin trailed the wagon, wracking his brains for a way to rescue the girl. Tip the cart? But that might hurt her. Unlock the door? The soldiers would be quick with their swords and she might be killed then and there. Ugh. Why hadn't Mordred kept out of this? Lancelot would have handled it and he wouldn't be in this position.

The wagon made it to the courtyard. Merlin entered soon after. His presence wouldn't be questioned here. Soldiers were used to him running errands. Merlin hovered several paces away, pretending to fiddle with something in his satchel as the bounty hunter unlocked the cage door and the soldiers roughly withdrew the girl. Manacles clinked as they were secured to her wrists and ankles. When they dragged her up the stairs, little caring that she stumbled all the way up, he followed behind. They headed to the throne room. Merlin sprinted down the short hallway to the servant's entrance as they pressed open the main doors. The council was already gathered and Arthur, too. He slipped in and up to his prince's side. Arthur glanced down at him and whispered.

"There you are. Where are your parchments? I want a record of the proceedings."

"I...was out...getting things...for Gaius," Merlin stammered.

Arthur grumbled. "I thought my messenger found you."

Merlin shook his head.

"Then listen well, though we might not need records if the charge is unquestionable."

The girl stood before the king, head bowed, soldiers on each side clasping her arms so tightly Merlin thought she must be in pain. He winced at her disheveled state—torn maroon dress, grimy, unwashed hair, smudges of dirt streaking her cheeks and chin, a fresh cut above her left eye. She couldn't be any older than him. As Uther rose, haughtily waving his hand to order her sent to her knees, Merlin's chin quavered. _This could be me, in chains, awaiting death for who I am._

"The bounty hunter Halig?"

The man stepped up beside the soldiers and girl when called, twisting his wide brimmed hat in his hands. "Me, sire."

"What evidence do you have of this girl's magic?"

"She's a Druid," Halig asserted. He moved to the girl, grasping her arm and turning over her right wrist to reveal the swirling tattoo of the Druids. That might have been proof enough, but Arthur's rules of trial wouldn't allow for execution without the certainty of magic performed.

"Witnesses?" Uther's eyes flicked briefly to Arthur.

"Sire?" Halig asked in confusion.

"Have you brought anyone who can testify to her use of magic?"

"She is a Druid, sire," Halig repeated as if this fact alone doomed her.

"I am aware, but has her use of magic been observed?"

"I didn't bring witnesses. I didn't know I would need them."

Uther now shot Arthur an openly annoyed glare. "Then we cannot..."

" _I_ am a witness," Halig declared, loudly and a bit desperately.

Uther's eyes rolled back over to him. "You saw her perform magic?"

"Yes, sire. She's dangerous."

"What has she done?"

Halig twisted his hat again. "She's really a beast, not a person at all."

Uther's brows met. "Explain."

Halig glanced around the room, seemingly to assess if anyone would believe him. Merlin's stomach clenched. Was he lying to collect the bounty?

"If the moon touches her, she changes. A great winged and fanged beast filled with bloodlust."

Uther stared at the man, Merlin hoped not believing such nonsense. When the king next spoke, his voice was quiet. "You saw this?"

"Yes, sire. She attacked me." The bounty hunter pointed to a scabbed gash on his cheek.

"Father," Arthur spoke up, gesturing at Halig. "You believe this?"

"There are many magical beings as you well know," Uther replied, eyes sending daggers at his son. "I used to think our kingdom rid of them." His tone had grown cold and bitter.

"Arthur..." Merlin began to whisper. Arthur hushed him with a palm thrust his direction.

"We can't accept the word of the bounty hunter alone," Arthur reminded his father. Merlin was glad Arthur had the foresight to include the rule that a bounty hunter couldn't be the only witness to the accused's guilt.

"I'm not a liar," Halig protested.

"We need more than your word," Arthur insisted.

"You may send for other witnesses," Uther informed Halig.

Halig balked. "She's killed them all, but me!"

Uther had retaken his seat on his high backed chair, hand on his chin.

"What if...what if..." Halig stumbled over his suggestion. " _You_ saw her change, sire?"

Uther lowered his hand and cocked his head. "Meaning?"

"Guard her. Expose her to the moon. You will see, sire. She's pure magic, I tell you."

Merlin's gaze shifted to the girl, and he was startled to see how badly she was shaking. A lone tear slipped down her cheek. Pure magic. Like him.

"Take her to a cell," Uther finally decided. "We will observe the truth of this matter for ourselves."


	58. Demon of Nightmare

Lancelot groaned as he came to, a stabbing knot of pain throbbing on the back of his head. Fuzzy vision resolved into two young faces staring down at him, Will and...Mordred. He pushed himself up, Will grasping his arm to aid him. Lancelot rubbed at his head, scrutinizing the mute boy kneeling to his right.

He hadn't interacted much with Mordred, having been informed the boy was wary of strangers, but Will had managed to befriend him. Lancelot had admired Will for spending time with a boy otherwise cut off from others. As far as Lancelot could tell, the boy's only other friend was a girl, the one he'd been asked to rescue. They were both orphans, he'd been told, and found solace in each other.

"Where is she?" Lancelot murmured.

"Taken to the castle," Will answered.

"What?" This shouldn't have happened. He was supposed to get her back before she reached the gates.

"Merlin went after her."

"Merlin?"

"He promised Mordred."

Lancelot wiped at his brow. He'd only meant Merlin to be a source of information, not to drag him into this mess. Lancelot clutched Mordred's forearm tightly. "You shouldn't have stopped me." Mordred pulled, but Lancelot hung on. "You followed us?"

"It's not his fault," Will defended his friend.

"You made him come, then?" Lancelot asked, not breaking his gaze from Mordred, his tone proclaiming he didn't believe Will's declaration.

"Well, no, but he wants to help Freya."

" _I'm_ supposed to help Freya." Lancelot gave Mordred a little shake. "And I would have secured her if I had not been stopped!" He dug into his shirt with his other hand, pulling out a red stone dangling from a cord around his neck. He rubbed his thumb against it.

Mordred's eyes rounded and he yanked harder against Lancelot's grip. Lancelot maintained his hold. Mordred suddenly stopped moving and raised his hand. It crackled with energy.

"Mordred! Don't hurt him!" Will pleaded.

Lancelot dropped his hand. Mordred backed away, and then turned tail and ran into the streets. Lancelot shoved the pendant back into his shirt, then took Will's hand to use the boy as support to stand. "He can't be out there alone. Why didn't you tell me he followed us?"

"Because...I..." Will choked on his words.

Lancelot held onto him as they stepped out of the alleyway. "Knights should be able to trust their squires," Lancelot chastised. He wasn't really a knight anymore, but he'd been teaching Will as if he was, the knight's code, the forms, the duties, all of it.

Will's voice broke. "I'm sorry, Lancelot."

"Don't deceive me again, Will. Ever."

Will nodded, but couldn't speak.

Lancelot stumbled forwards. "I need to get to the inn and find a courier."

* * *

"A girl can't change into a beast," Merlin protested as he followed Arthur out of the council chamber.

Arthur thumbed sleep out of his eyes. "I'm not sure," he mumbled.

"He was lying," Merlin insisted. "He wants the reward. She's innocent."

Arthur continued walking towards his chambers and rubbed a hand on his stomach when it rumbled.

"Arthur..."

"If it is a lie, it's a risky one. What if she doesn't change? He's lied to the king, then."

Merlin chewed his bottom lip, Arthur's response making unfortunate sense. "But she's just a girl."

"Girls can be corrupted by magic as much as anyone."

"You said you wouldn't kill a child with magic."

Arthur paused ever so slightly, then continued on. "I never said that."

Merlin kept pace at his side. "You didn't say you _would_ ," Merlin returned.

"If she turns into a beast, she's not a girl anyway."

"But..."

Arthur stopped outside his chamber door and turned to face Merlin. "Why are you so keen to defend her?"

Merlin met Arthur's questioning gaze, gulping. If only he could trust Arthur's reaction enough to tell the truth. "It's just, she's young."

"She's about your age," Arthur said, amused. "Hardly an innocent child." He playfully ruffled the hair at the back of Merlin's neck. "I suppose we'll see what happens tonight."

"I'll be there," Merlin stated.

Arthur laughed. "I didn't mean that. This girl might be a dangerous animal, and you think I'll let you attend? Go help Gaius, Merlin. I have no need of you today." He opened the door to his chambers, entered, and then shut himself in.

Merlin leaned his back against the door. Why would Halig lie? _Did_ he lie? If he didn't, the girl was doomed. Merlin pushed away from the doors, hurrying down the hall. He had to know if Halig's accusation could in any way be true.

"Gaius!" Merlin called out when he reached the chambers he shared with the physician and threw open the door. He was stopped short as a scowling face turned his direction. "My lord," he muttered, bowing his head. Uther focused back on the physician.

"Search. I want the answer before tonight."

Merlin kept his head down as the king left without acknowledging him. He looked up at Gaius who had already moved to one of his shelves containing a plethora of books. "What did he want?"

Gaius procured several volumes. "He wonders if the bounty hunter's claims are plausible."

Merlin's eyes flicked to the door. He and Uther sought the same information, but for very different purposes. "Are they?" Merlin sauntered over to the table.

"I'm not sure. I haven't heard of this magic before, if it is indeed magic."

Gaius opened a thick book. Merlin grabbed another. Uther had allowed the physician to keep certain books listing magical causes of various ailments for treatment if necessary.

"Gaius?"

"What?"

"If it's true, you said you'd help me keep people from dying."

"I did."

"So you'll help me get her away?"

"If she _is_ a creature and lusts after blood, she is a danger to anyone around her," Gaius warned.

"But if it's magic—"

"And she's killed and maimed others?"

Merlin scanned the first page of the book he'd opened, skimming a description of an enormous water leech that could drain a person's blood until he perished.

"She may not be innocent," Gaius spoke quietly. "You must prepare for this outcome."

Merlin's heart sank. Why had he ever made that promise to Mordred?

Gaius lay a comforting hand on Merlin's shoulder. "We can't rescue everyone with magic simply because they have magic, just as Uther should not execute everyone who uses it."

Merlin wrung his hands as he continued reading the medical book. It had never occurred to him he'd have to let Uther execute someone like him if they were guilty.

* * *

Morgana tore out several stitches of her embroidery and dropped a needle in her lap. She hated such passive activity. This particular pattern had been uncompleted for at least a year. She'd only started it to placate Uther, who insisted she acquire some skill that made her look somewhat like a court lady so she'd attract suitors.

Morgana absently rolled the needle back and forth along her knee. So far she'd managed reasonable explanations to avoid the men Uther suggested for betrothal. Still, she feared the limits to Uther's indulgence. Someday she would have to declare her heart taken. Such a proclamation would have been hard enough when Lancelot served as a knight. Now that he'd been banned from the citadel, Uther would no doubt forbid the match.

Morgana stuck the needle in the taut embroidery cloth, than lay a hand over her abdomen. The magic roiled when thoughts of Lancelot led to the Druid Aglain. She wished Lancelot had left this alone. She loved him, and that he knew her secret had been enough to sustain her. With him at her side, she could have borne the fight against it, but his actions revealed he wanted her to free it.

Morgana ran a weary hand over her eyes. She'd wished for such freedom once, to not fear the nightmares, before the bracelet, before the vision in the cave. Not now. It had to remain locked away for the safety of Uther as well as her own soul.

The door opened and Gwen appeared. "My lady. A message." The girl handed her a rolled parchment. Before Morgana could open it, Gwen spoke on. "I brought it personally. It's from Lancelot."

Morgana hesitated and almost asked Gwen to throw it in the fire. Noticing her hesitation, the girl reached out to grasp her hand and garner her attention. "He was very upset when he gave it to me."

Morgana untied the string binding the parchment and read.

 _My love, I was wrong. I presumed upon you. It was not my intent to hurt you. I care only for your well-being. May I see you again? Send your answer with your maidservant. If you cannot abide me now, I will wait until time has healed my indiscretion. Always Yours, Lancelot._

Morgana clutched the letter to her heart. He was so noble, his words so alluring. Gwen had busied herself in the room, digging in the laundry basket. "You should see Arthur, Gwen."

Gwen turned abruptly, a pair of riding pants dangling from her hands. "I see him."

"I mean be with him again."

Gwen fumbled with the pants. "I can't."

"Pure love shouldn't be denied."

Gwen flushed. "It's not the right time."

"When it is, grasp it."

"Yes, my lady," Gwen murmured.

Morgana stared at the letter. "Tell Lancelot my answer is 'Yes.'"

* * *

Merlin passed through the east gate, a note in his hand. The man who'd sent the summons stood right outside. Merlin greeted him nervously. "Lancelot."

"Merlin." The former knight put a hand on his back and directed him away from the gate and the ears of guards to the shade of a large oak. "Mordred?"

Merlin crumpled the note in his hand and stuffed it into his pocket. "It's not all Will's fault. I hid him."

"I thought so." Lancelot's knowing gaze made Merlin quail. "For what it's worth, he didn't tell me. I guessed."

"Oh."

"It was a foolish thing." Merlin dipped his head. "But then, I've never known you to keep your nose out of other people's business, and it's usually been a good thing in the end." Merlin looked back up, surprised to see a thin smile on Lancelot's face. "Have you seen him?"

"Mordred?"

Lancelot nodded.

"I left him with you and Will."

"He ran away."

Merlin rolled his eyes. Of course. This just had to get even more complicated.

"If he contacts you, I want to know."

"I'll tell you."

"The girl?"

"I saw her. Uther can't condemn her unless there's proof of her magic practice. Halig's claimed she turns into a beast in moonlight. The king's going to see it for himself tonight."

Lancelot scratched at his beard.

" _Is_ she a beast?"

"I wasn't told that."

"He could be lying. Gaius and I've been looking and can't find anything like Halig says."

Lancelot crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't want you involved in this. This is my mission."

Merlin tapped his foot against the base of the tree and contemplated its bark, scraping at it with a fingernail. "You can't go into the castle."

"Merlin, I know you're willing to help her, but this puts you in danger."

"She's like me. She's got magic, and I'm not going to let her get killed." He looked up. "I promised."

Lancelot sighed. "I wish you hadn't," he groaned.

"I took on a troll and goblin. I can do this, too."

"Merlin."

"Please trust me."

Lancelot leaned a shoulder against the tree. "If they don't see anything, she'll be free."

Merlin nodded.

"We'll wait and see then. But if this goes wrong, you are to tell me."

* * *

When Merlin returned to Gaius' chambers, the physician called out to him the moment he opened the door and beckoned him with one finger. "Here." Merlin sidled up to the physician to behold a large picture and a passage in a book laying open in front of his mentor.

Merlin read. _The bastet appears as a black panther and is capable of flight, bearing the wings of a bat. It exists in the form of a person unless touched by the light of the moon. The bloodthirsty desires of the bastet are then unleashed on any helpless victim in its vicinity. Many call it a 'demon of nightmare.' Such it is to itself and its prey, for the hunter himself bears the curse that turns him into the beast. He cannot help but fulfill his blood lust._ A full-page drawing accompanied the description, a winged catlike beast, mouth open in a roar, lit by a grinning moon.

Merlin looked up. "This is what she is?"

"It seems likely," Gaius spoke quietly. "Poor girl. To be so cursed."

Merlin's back straightened. "If it's a curse, Uther can't kill her. It's not her fault."

"Merlin." Gaius' voice softened even more. "She cannot be saved nor stopped."

Merlin stared at Gaius in horror. "He'll still kill her?"

"If she transforms tonight, he will."

"Are you really sure she's this thing?"

Gaius tapped the book. "I'll have to tell Uther what I found."

"But he still can't do anything unless she changes."

"According to Arthur's rules, yes."

Merlin dashed to his room and returned just as quickly, holding up the grimoire. "What if she didn't turn?"

Gaius tilted his head.

"What if I free her?"

"This isn't like the goblin or troll. It isn't an illusion or possession by a magical being. She is cursed to be this thing. It is her and she is it. Even if she cannot help it, she _will_ kill."

Merlin thought of his promise to Mordred. He thought of the disheveled girl on her knees, trembling and crying. He couldn't give up on her so easily. He sat down and opened the grimoire.

"Merlin?"

"There's got to be a way to release her, Gaius."

"I don't think..."

Merlin's head snapped up. "You said you'd help magic wielders. Then help her!"

Gaius stared at him a moment, then wandered to another section of books, this one dealing with various medical mixtures. He sat down next to Merlin and opened his own tome. "Perhaps there is a way to suppress the change," he muttered.

Merlin grinned. The physician lifted his right brow skeptically, but smiled back.

* * *

When evening approached, Merlin had discovered only two spells that might work _if_ the girl even changed at all. With any luck, Halig had made up the whole thing, though Arthur's logic that lying to the king was a stupid move undermined Merlin's hope.

Gaius had left to inform the king about his suspicions, but had also vowed to warn Uther it was quite possible Halig lied and this bastet idea would come to naught. Still, Gaius had been insistent the king had to be prepared in case it was true. Helping the girl didn't mean leaving anyone vulnerable to her possible transformation.

Merlin paced his room, silently reciting the spells. Nero rode his shoulder, the bird's presence a comfort as he stroked its back. He'd found a spell that removed cursed diseases. He wasn't sure being a bastet counted as a disease, but he memorized the spell anyway.

Another spell suppressed the dark magic of everyday objects. People weren't its target, but still, it also was worth a try. He chanted each spell in his mind over and over until they felt like second nature. He glanced out his window at the darkening horizon. He didn't have much time.

Merlin stroked Nero again, then lifted a finger so the kestrel would grasp it and transferred him to the desk. Gaius hadn't found a mixture he thought would help. He said he might could come up with something on his own if he had time, but night was almost upon them.

Merlin descended the steps from his room and crossed to the door, determined. He made his way down the hall and just met Gaius returning on the landing to the spiral staircase.

"I've told the king," the physician reported. "He is on alert, but he does understand he might be deceived."

Merlin nodded.

"You're ready?"

"I've got them memorized."

"Good. Whatever happens, I want you out of there right after. Do you understand?"

"Yes. It'll be fine, Gaius."

"If the gods smile upon us," Gaius spoke indecisively.

"I've got to go," Merlin said, laying a hand briefly on Gaius' arm and then hurrying down the steps. He had to sneak into the dungeon before anyone showed up to test the girl.

* * *

Arthur had made his way to the dungeon a little before the others arrived. He'd stood in shadows, contemplating the girl locked in a cell, wondering if such a fragile creature could transform into a terrifying beast. She'd huddled against the wall, and as she didn't move at all, he assumed she slept. Her torn clothing exposed her skin to the cold and wet of the dungeon and revealed cuts and bruises. Halig hadn't been gentle with her.

Arthur twirled a ring on one of his fingers as he often did when thinking deeply. He hadn't told Merlin, but the boy's questions and words bothered him. _Would_ he kill a child with magic? Killing a child sounded all wrong no matter which way he looked at it, but killing those with magic he had always been told was right. Druid children from his raid flashed through his mind and he blinked the images away, but he couldn't ignore the uncomfortable twist in his gut.

Arthur firmed his jaw. He needn't worry much. Soon they would know what this girl was, innocent or no. He could deal with these thoughts then if he had to.

* * *

Merlin had been surprised when Arthur showed up first. His prince stayed far back from the girl's cell, but watched her for several moments. Merlin wondered what he was thinking. Was he hoping the girl wouldn't be what the bounty hunter claimed? Did he worry if she was?

Merlin smiled to himself despite the nerve-wracking wait. Uther had looked on the girl without a shred of compassion. To him, she was a problem to be solved, nothing more. Arthur couldn't help but see a person.

Footsteps tromped on the stairs and soon men came into view, Uther, several guards, council members. They joined Arthur in front of the cell. The girl stirred, coming awake. Merlin tried to steady his breathing so as not to be discovered in his hiding place behind several barrels. Peeking over the top, he could view the girl in her cell to the right and the group there to judge her on the left. He replayed the spells in his mind, readying himself for action.

Uther motioned to several guards. The cell was unlocked and they entered. One grasped the girl, hauling her up. Another pulled at manacles hanging from a ring in the ceiling. They secured the girl's wrists, her arms above her head. As the guards left and the door was relocked, Uther spoke.

"The moon will fall on her there?" he inquired.

"Yes, sire," one replied.

So that was the reason they chained the girl, Merlin realized. He felt even sorrier for her now, standing there half-naked in front of a bunch of men, the chains clinking as she shook in fear. This couldn't be a girl who meant harm. Time passed. Everyone watched. The girl closed her eyes.

And then, a beam of light poured through the small grate high on the back wall, washing the girl in its pure white light. The girl shuddered, groaned, stiffened. Everyone tensed.

Merlin began chanting under his breath. " _Á_ _dée ádlunge ealltæwan gehælednesse_." Nothing had happened yet. He probably wouldn't even be able to tell if the girl attempted to transform. If the spell worked, she'd be prevented. He chanted the second spell. " _Belúcan áglæccræft stendean þinges_." Then he jumped and about pitched over backwards. The girl had screamed, no, screeched.

Merlin pressed a hand to his chest, his heart racing. The girl twisted in the manacles and within seconds fur sprouted along her arms and her shape morphed. The chains snapped. The girl was gone. In her place stood a snarling, hissing panther. A crossbow bolt fired. The bastet turned, taking the bolt in the shoulder. It shrieked and threw itself against the bars. They shattered as it burst through.

Screaming, shouting, weapons drawn or fired. Merlin didn't see exactly what happened. He just knew the bastet passed his hiding place, fleeing farther into the dungeon down its dark tunnels. He rushed after it. The guards would soon be on his heels, but he could be faster. His eyes glowed and he ran at an incredible speed, the panther only meters in front of him. It hit a dead end and turned. Merlin skidded to a stop, arms outstretched. " _Á_ _dée ádlunge ealltæwan gehælednesse!_ " he shouted. It growled and started towards him. " _Belúcan áglæccræft stendean þinges!_ " The bastet leaped.

Merlin crashed backwards and screamed as claws raked his chest and stomach. Two paws pinned him to the ground and the beast's mouth opened, exposing gleaming fangs.

"No!" Merlin cried out. His eyes went gold, self-preservation tripling the force of his spell, sending the creature slamming into the far dungeon wall. He groaned and turned on his side. The panther struggled to a stand, shook itself, and limped towards him.

"Please," Merlin whimpered, trying to muster up more magic and failing as nausea overwhelmed him. The panther stopped, whined, and shifted, growing smaller, a girl's thin, wispy form returning. She collapsed, the bolt in her shoulder leaking blood.

Footsteps pounded. Merlin heard his name shouted. Arthur. The girl's eyes fixed on his and she murmured, "I'm sorry," as tears dripped down her cheek.


	59. Dreams Portentous

"Gaius!" Arthur shouted when he kicked in the physician's door. The old man stood, taking in the prince with a raven headed boy hefted in his arms. "The girl. The bastet. She attacked him."

Arthur couldn't entirely read Gaius' reaction. Dismay, fear, anger? Something along those lines or a combination of all three. "Lay him there."

Arthur set Merlin down on a patient's cot, bracing a hand behind his back to wriggle off the boy's blood drenched shirt as his head lolled back. Gaius lifted Merlin's arms so Arthur could shove up the shirt and wrench it off. Arthur eased Merlin down onto his back.

As the physician bent over to assess the wounds, Arthur stepped back to give him room. He made to run his hand through his hair, but stopped, stunned at Merlin's blood on his fingers. Rage welled up within, directed at the beast for the act, the bounty hunter for not warning them of her strength, and Merlin himself for daring to show up. His gaze snapped back to Merlin, and the wrath he felt morphed into stomach twisting fear.

Several lines crossed Merlin's chest from his left shoulder to his abdomen. All had broken the skin, though some bled more heavily than others. Gaius dabbed a cloth to Merlin's chest to clean away the wounds, and the boy's eyes flew wide out of his stupor, a scream issuing forth. Arthur was on the other side of the cot in seconds. "Gaius?"

"Hold him down."

Arthur wasn't unused to gory wounds, having administered field aid himself on several occasions, but as he pinned Merlin's shoulders to the bed and Gaius cleared away blood, the boy's screams cut through his heart and tears blurred his vision. When Merlin suddenly went limp, Arthur blinked, ignoring the droplets that trickled down his cheeks. "He can't be."

"He's not dead, sire. Passed out."

Arthur released the boy's shoulders, moving a hand to his hair, staring into the thin, angular face he'd come to know so well. _Stupid, Merlin. Such an idiot._ "Why didn't you give him something for the pain?"

"I assumed he was close to fainting when you brought him in. And in his panicked state, he wouldn't have taken it without a fight."

Arthur ran his fingers through the boy's hair, even though Merlin surely didn't sense his presence. Gaius stood, rushing to a shelf and then back, pouring something onto a fresh cloth and then pressing it to the injuries.

"The wounds?"

"The blood must stop flowing."

Arthur turned his eyes from the gashes to Merlin's face, speaking softly into his ear. "I order you to stop bleeding. You hear me?" Merlin's cheeks had paled, sweat beaded his forehead. Time passed. Arthur continued to kneel next to his servant boy, silently pleading with him.

Gaius sat back on his heels, then rose, moving to another shelf and procuring strings of catgut and a needle. Arthur shivered when he returned and threaded the needle. He concentrated on the boy's unconscious face, speaking soothingly. "You're going to be okay. You will."

Gaius had just finished when Merlin's lips parted and a moan escaped. His eyelids fluttered and he heaved. Gaius managed to turn him on his side just in time for the vomit to hit the floor. He swiped a cloth across Merlin's mouth as the boy cried out. "Sit him up, sire."

Arthur pushed Merlin upright, the boy squirming against his hand. "Merlin! You need to drink!"

The boy stilled, eyes unfocused, but when Gaius set a cup to his lips, he obeyed. Not long after his eyes rolled back and he left the world once more. Gaius sighed, slumping onto a stool with the cup in his hands, weary and spent.

Arthur stood, glanced once more at the sewn up cuts, then found a rag. He knelt down next to the cot to wipe up the contents of Merlin's stomach.

Gaius began to push to his feet. "Sire, I can take care of that."

"No, Gaius," Arthur countered. "Sit."

Gaius lowered himself back to the stool.

"Will he live?" Arthur asked, then held his breath against the vomit's pungent odor.

"He lost some blood, but he isn't too pale. He will heal."

Arthur dumped the soiled cloth into a bucket, then cleansed his hands in Gaius' wash basin, trying to ignore the tinge of pink coloring the water as blood rinsed from his fingers.

"What happened?"

Arthur dried his hands on a cloth. "The moonlight hit the girl and she changed. She's like the bounty hunter said. Merlin...he appeared out of nowhere...and ran after her." Arthur sagged down at the table, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Why does he keep doing these things?" he muttered more to himself than the physician.

"He has a loyal heart," Gaius replied.

"I don't want him killed!" Arthur practically shouted, slamming both hands onto the table.

"You can't stop Merlin from being who he is, Arthur," Gaius advised with resignation. "He serves and gives himself because he was born to."

Arthur laughed scornfully. "He was born a ruddy peasant."

"But destiny, it seems, had greater things planned."

Arthur stared at the suddenly philosophical physician.

"He isn't always wise, but his heart is single-focused, and most of it is dedicated to you."

Arthur ran an eye over the dark red stripes lacing Merlin's front. "I should make him go back home," he grumbled.

"And destroy him? Because it would, sire."

Arthur clenched a fist. "Even if he's loyal, why in the heavens was he down there?"

Gaius rose from the stool. "Perhaps he thought to stop such a great danger."

Arthur thinned his lips. Yes. That would be just like Merlin. Fear the girl's change and its effect on his master.

The door to the physician's chamber opened. "Sire?"

Arthur looked over at a guard. "What is it?"

"Your father commands your presence. And you are needed in the cells, physician."

* * *

Arthur prepared himself outside the council chamber. He'd hastened away from the dungeon carrying Merlin without a word to his father. Taking off like that had surely broken protocol and he expected a reprimand, but a lecture wasn't his main worry. His father would take issue with Merlin and demand retribution. So he pushed open the door, ready for a fight.

The councilors had already departed, and his father sat at the end of the long table alone, elbows propped on it, hands tented to his lips. He didn't change position when Arthur marched towards him, just glared intensely. Arthur started speaking before he even reached him.

"If this is about Merlin, I will take care of it. He's my responsibility." He halted next to the chair to his father's right, but didn't sit, instead perching an arm across its back.

Uther cleared his throat. "I sometimes think you don't understand who rules this kingdom."

"What cause have I given you to doubt my comprehension these last months?" Arthur challenged.

"Oh come, Arthur. We play a little game of pretend. You find subtle ways to make me pay for perceived injustices."

"I mean no disrespect. I've simply tried to act as the sovereign I will some day be."

Uther lowered his hands and leaned against the high back of his seat. "You bring the boy into council. Rely on him."

"He is attentive. His script without error."

Uther pressed a flattened palm into the table, eyes burning. "And has this boy taken my place? Does he have more of your loyalty and ear?"

Arthur firmed his jaw, unable to answer for a moment. When he did speak, his tone was guarded. "You have always been my example."

"And now?"

"You are still an example," he asserted, but didn't specify what kind.

Uther stood, tone turning official. "The boy shouldn't have been in the dungeon. How will you deal with him?"

"Almost dying isn't enough?" Arthur asked bitterly.

"It was an intrusion. And if you cannot manage discipline when it is required..." His father let the sentence hang to emphasize the implied threat.

Anger flared in Arthur's heart. "And what would you have me do? Chain him to a wall and flog him?"

Uther flinched ever so slightly. "I would have you teach him his place. Do so. Or he _will_ fall under _my_ judgment."

Arthur clenched his teeth, but nodded and turned to walk away. His father spoke after him.

"I suppose the girl's change makes her magic indisputable, and you will consent your rules have been followed."

Arthur didn't even pause. "Yes."

"She will be executed tomorrow, an hour before noon."

Arthur left the room, tromping back down the hall. Executions usually took place near dawn, but as it was the dead of night, he assumed his father desired word to travel—another magic wielder would meet a gruesome end.

* * *

 _A girl wept in a corner, raggedly dressed, dirt stained, tear streaked. Merlin approached her cautiously, worried, afraid, pained. He touched her shoulder. She jumped, turned, and launched herself at him, nails scraping his bare chest. He yelped, drew back, and she crumbled, clutching her shoulder. Her eyes met his. "I'm sorry. So sorry. Forgive me. I'm sorry."_

 _Arthur appeared, yanking him out of the way. The back of Arthur's red cape bore an embroidered golden dragon along its entire length. The Dragon Man. Merlin couldn't breathe, watching as he raised a sword. Before he could swing, Merlin pushed in front of the girl. The sword pierced his gut. He fell, and the girl grasped him, her tears wetting his face as she whispered._

 _"I'm sorry. So sorry. It wasn't meant to be like this." He stared into her dark brown depths as his vision faded..._

* * *

Merlin woke from his dream, whining against searing lines crossing his chest. He tried to sit up, but sharp pain zinged along all the lines at once, causing him to pitch back and pant for breath.

"Merlin. Lay still." Gaius' voice was welcome and filled with concern. The physician's hand gently restrained his shoulders and his visage appeared. "You're safe in our chamber. You were wounded. I've stitched you, but it will hurt for a time."

Merlin blinked, relaxed, and rolled his eyes downward to take stock of himself. A bandage wound around his chest to his abdomen. Memory replayed—the girl, her change, her escape, his cornering her, the attack. But then her eyes, so scared, so remorseful, dripping repentant tears, and a voice so broken. _"I'm sorry."_

"The girl," he struggled over his words. Even breathing hurt. "What...of her?"

Gaius pinched his lips together. "She lives, but she's been secured in the pit."

"What?"

"Uther will not let light touch her."

"She's alone? In the dark?" Merlin had seen the pit, a cell built into the floor to house the most dangerous of criminals. No one had occupied it since he'd been in Camelot that he knew of.

"Not for long."

Merlin fought his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. "Gaius?"

"She is to be executed."

Merlin closed his eyes. "No."

"It's how it must be," Gaius spoke sadly.

Merlin's hand shook as he touched the bandage on his chest. "She didn't mean to do this."

"She cannot help it. She lusts for blood."

"She told me she was sorry."

"Perhaps she was, but that does not change what she is."

"Gaius..."

"Rest. Sleep."

Merlin shut his mouth, too tired and pained to force the issue, but as his mind shut down once more, he heard a pleading voice begging him for forgiveness.

* * *

Lancelot had risen early, anxiously. He hadn't slept much, the girl's fate occupying his thoughts. He had met Aglain again in the woods, the Druid summoned when he'd rubbed the pendant he wore around his neck. Aglain had been agitated when he learned about Mordred's appearance and the girl's capture. He'd about decided to enter the city himself, but Lancelot dissuaded him. Camelot was too dangerous.

Lancelot and Will had spent the better part of the previous day searching in vain for Mordred. Such futility had Lancelot cursing the city's enormity. They'd search again today after he heard the report from Merlin.

Lancelot left Will sprawled on the floor, mouth hanging open in sleep. He stopped for a meal and paid the innkeeper to take another up to his room for Will. The boy wouldn't be happy he'd left him behind, but he thought it best to remove the lad from any further developments.

He picked his way towards the citadel, meaning to send a courier to Merlin and discover the result of the girl's test the night before, when he spied a crowd gathered in front of a wooden board. He peeking over shoulders and his heartbeat faltered. A notice of execution.

It couldn't be, but it was. A Druid, it announced, would be burnt at the stake the hour before noon. Lancelot wandered away, heart thumping against his ribs like a frantically trapped bird. He couldn't imagine telling Aglain he'd failed, nor the shy, fragile girl meeting such a horrible end. Had everything gone so wrong?

As he searched for a courier, another thought hit him. Had Mordred heard? Did he know his friend went to the stake? And if he did, what would he do about it? Lancelot tracked down a courier imbibing an early drink in the tavern and paid him extra to deliver a letter _now_.

* * *

 _The dark haired girl held his hand, smiling tenderly, guiding him. His feet touched water, and he glanced down at his toes sinking into gray sand, then up at an expansive lake. She tugged, pulling him forward, eyes dancing. Sudden awareness revealed he wore only a pair of breeches, inappropriately exposed before her, but he didn't care. She dropped his hand when the water reached waist high, then stretched out her arms and lilted forward as graceful as a swan. She dived downwards._

 _He waited for her emergence, but the time grew long and his heart pattered._

 _"Merlin."_

 _He turned. Arthur had appeared on the shore, beckoning him with one hand. He waded back and sat on his knees in the dirt. Arthur wore a white shirt stained with a red dragon. Was it dye? Or blood?_

 _The water behind Merlin splashed. The girl tiptoed onto the shore, bearing a magnificent sword, the hilt grasped in both hands, its tip pointed upwards. The weapon flashed gold and silver, and Merlin perceived runes marking its length. The girl passed him, sparing a personal smile, then knelt before Arthur and held the sword level, resting along her palms._

 _Arthur accepted the sword, and the girl's voice spoke lowly, "Take me up."_

 _Merlin stared in awe. The girl grabbed his hand, dragging him back to the water, where they both dove under, swimming in tandem..._

* * *

Merlin's eyelids opened. His head swam until his sight resolved. Gaius' chamber. And he was on a cot. Yes. Wounded. Because of the girl, the one whose touch in his dream had felt so right. But now? He gasped at the stings piercing the claw wounds.

"Merlin? You're in pain?"

A figure appeared, sinking next to his cot. Arthur.

"It...hurts," Merlin admitted. No use denying it.

"Gaius said to give you this when you woke." Arthur procured a cup from the table and pushed Merlin up enough to drink comfortably. Merlin clenched his teeth to stifle another gasp. He drank the offered cup. Arthur retrieved a bowl next. "Here. Eat."

Merlin reached for the spoon.

"No. I'll feed you."

"I'm not a child."

"You're not an man either, and you're wounded. Let me." He spooned the soup and held it in front of Merlin's mouth. Merlin submitted, sucking the liquid off the end. Arthur kept quiet until he'd finished the bowl and lay back down. The pain was gradually subsiding.

Arthur settled in next to him, knees steepled, hands braced on the floor. "We have some things to discuss."

"I shouldn't have been there," Merlin stated. Arthur would be angry. He'd already guessed that.

Arthur didn't even agree, just asked, "Why?"

Merlin sighed. _To save her from death._ "I thought she might change."

"And I'd be in danger again." Arthur shook his head. "I don't know what to say to you. You never listen, not when it comes to your own safety."

Merlin didn't attempt a defense, Arthur's statement accurate even if he didn't truly understand the girl's salvation occupied him this time, rather than the prince's.

"I've made a decision." Arthur nailed him with his blue eyes. "I'm not going to stop you anymore. I'll take you with me wherever you want to go. Stay by my side if you will, but you must make a promise."

"What?"

"No more skulking around. I won't have it."

Merlin chewed his cheek for a moment. He really didn't want to have to vocalize another lie. "I'll tell you," he whispered, but amended in his mind, _when I can_.

Arthur nodded once, then ran a hand through his blond hair. "We still have trouble, though. My father insists I punish you."

Merlin swallowed. He'd tried to laid low, but ended up garnering Uther's attention anyway. "How?"

"He's left it up to me, but if it does not satisfy him, he'll decide." Arthur looked angry, and Merlin knew he must have tried to get him out of any punishment at all, but Uther was still king.

Merlin's breath caught in his throat. Uther had once handed him over to an irate noble who beat him viciously. Uther had flogged his own son. Would the king demand he face the lash himself? He lifted his chin. He'd seen Arthur's scars, and he could be just as brave. "You...you can let them whip me...It's okay."

Arthur balked. "Gaius' pain mixture must have addled your brain! How could you think I would ever approve such a punishment? Never. Even if my life depended on it."

Relief flooded Merlin, and he relaxed, but questioned, "What then?"

"I don't know," Arthur mumbled.

Merlin bit his bottom lip, thinking. He recalled another time, another punishment. "Stocks. They're not too bad."

"In this heat?" Arthur questioned incredulously.

"I did it once. I can do it again."

"Merlin."

"It's better than a whipping."

Arthur sighed. "Well, let's not worry about it. I won't announce the punishment until you're healed anyway. Not even my father is harsh enough to expect you to serve it wounded." His hand rested for a moment on Merlin's arm, encouraging and comforting.

"Arthur? The girl. She's...going to be...executed?"

Arthur suddenly laughed. "Of course. She changed. She hurt one of our own."

"She can't help it."

"Hm?"

"She's cursed. Gaius' book said so."

"What book?"

Merlin pointed to the table where the book rested unshelved. Arthur grabbed it and pulled over a stool to open it on his lap. "Bastet."

Arthur flipped until he found the page and read. He looked up. "A curse doesn't mean she won't be executed."

Merlin closed his eyes. "Gaius said that, too." When Merlin reopened his eyes, even he startled at his sudden tears. "You can stop it. Please stop it."

Arthur gestured to his bandages. "She did that to you!"

"She didn't mean it. I know she didn't."

Arthur closed the book and shook his head. "Always too compassionate for your own good, Merlin.

"For me, Arthur. Please."

Arthur tousled his hair. "It's out of our hands. Forget her. Heal. I command you."

Merlin, suddenly very tired again, tried to open his mouth, but couldn't force out any more words. The door opened and a guard appeared.

"A message, sire."

Arthur reached out for it.

"For the boy."

Arthur raised his eyebrows as he accepted the rolled up parchment. The guard left and Arthur handed the message to Merlin. "Are you sweet on someone and forgot to mention it?"

Merlin smiled with half his mouth. "No," he managed.

"Would you tell me if you were?"

Merlin huffed. "No." He unrolled the parchment and immediately recognized the handwriting. Lancelot. Asking to meet him under the oak. He pushed up to swing his legs over the cot.

"Whoa! What are you doing?"

"Going."

Arthur caught his shoulders as he attempted to stand. "You're staying here."

"Have to."

Arthur swiped the parchment from his hands. "Lancelot. Wanting to speak with you. Well, I'll go in your stead."

"No."

"I can return his lute. Couldn't find him the other day. I'll let him know what's happened. He'll just have to wait to chat with you."

"But—" Merlin's protest was swallowed up in exclamations from a woman and a girl entering at the door. Morgana and Gwen, it seemed, had just gotten word and had come to see him. He was peppered with hugs and embraced around the neck.

"I'll leave him to you, my ladies," Arthur said, walking to the door. Merlin watched him go and even in his worry caught the sad look that passed between Arthur and the girl he loved so much.

* * *

Arthur hailed Lancelot when he approached his old friend under a broad oak tree. He held out the lute and grinned. Lancelot widened his eyes and took it into his hands as gently as he would a babe, caressing its strings, plucking a few. "You kept it."

"You left it in my room."

Lancelot sighed. "I missed you," he whispered to the instrument.

Arthur laughed. "It's not a woman."

"It's the best kind of woman. It responds to your touch, sings beautifully, and goes silent the moment you want it to."

Arthur guffawed. "Has Morgana heard you say that?"

"No. And if you tell her, you'll be drinking well-water."

"You sure you still want Morgana? She's not a lute."

Lancelot's good humor sobered. "I want her. If she wants me."

Arthur's expression grew solemn. "I was only teasing. She does want you. Make up with her."

"I'm trying." His dark eyes grew deep and sad.

"Is that why you asked for Merlin? To persuade her?" Arthur held up the note dangling between a thumb and forefinger.

"I just, wanted to speak with him."

"He can't."

Lancelot looked alarmed. "Why?"

Arthur sighed. "A girl was brought in and she has magic."

"Oh?"

"She—don't laugh—she turns into a beast."

Lancelot tilted his head. "You can't be serious."

"I saw it with my own eyes."

"Really, Arthur," Lancelot spoke dismissively.

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, leaning a shoulder into the tree. "You weren't here to see the goblin and troll. After those, I think I'd believe almost anything."

Lancelot folded his own arms, resting his back against the bark. "I've been a lot of places these last months. I've learned much and, Arthur...I think we may have been wrong."

"About?"

"Magic."

A muscle twitched in Arthur's jaw, and he stiffened. "We're not."

"How can you be sure?"

"Look at all its done. All the evil."

"I don't think what Merlin's mother did was evil."

"That was a mistake on her part."

"Saving people in her village."

Arthur exhaled slowly. "You know a step down that path corrupts the soul."

"Merlin's mother is corrupt? Gaius is corrupt?"

Arthur unfolded one arm to rub at his chin. "I suppose...people can be turned away from it, but that just proves how evil it is. They have to leave it to escape its grasp."

Lancelot fixed him with a gaze. "What if your father has driven all those who use it for good away?"

Arthur frowned. "Why are you saying this?"

"Because I've _seen_ it used for good."

Arthur's mouth went dry. "What?"

"I've seen it provide warmth on a cold night, harvest a crop in half the normal time, heal a dying man."

Arthur took a step back.

"Magic's a skill, Arthur, like yours with a sword or crossbow. You can turn it to good or bad. It's the man that chooses its direction. There are people out there who just want to live lives where their skill is put to good use."

"You've been with sorcerers." Arthur spoke as if betrayed.

"Druids. They're peaceful. This girl about to be executed, she's not evil."

"She hurt Merlin," Arthur argued, feeling as if Lancelot had knocked the wind out of him.

"What if she had no choice?"

"What do you know about this? Did Merlin tell you about Gaius' book?"

"Listen..."

"No." Arthur's eyes grew hard. "Stay away, Lancelot. If my father knew you'd been with them, he'd kill you."

"And would you kill me?"

Arthur's chest ached as he tried to breathe.

"For consorting with sorcerers?"

"Go. Get out. Don't come back." Arthur turned, hurrying away into the citadel.

* * *

Morgana fingered the book Merlin had mentioned, running a hand over the drawing of a catlike beast. She hadn't even been aware a girl had been brought in as bounty. The poor girl, subjected to this. _Not her choice_ , Morgana thought, painfully aware of the magic knot inside fighting for freedom.

"And they're going to execute her," she stated.

"Yeah." Merlin's voice sounded tired and broken.

Gwen appeared at her elbow, looking at the picture. "So awful."

"How can he do it?" Morgana asked.

"Because he must." It was Gaius who spoke, weary gaze both sympathetic and stern at the same time. Morgana turned and Gaius raised a hand to placate her. "I see it, my lady. You want to argue with him."

Morgana's eyes flashed. "If she can't help it, he's executing an innocent."

"As I've told Merlin," Gaius' eyes flicked to the boy and back, "the girl _is_ the bastet. She cannot be saved, and she will continue to kill."

"But if the moonlight never touched her," Morgana ruminated.

"Consign her to the pit her entire life?"

"She's in the pit?" Morgana slammed the book shut. She stomped to the door, ignoring Gaius calling after her.

Gwen followed, catching up, matching her speed. "My lady?"

"He can't do this." Morgana reached Uther's chamber and knocked loudly.

"Come."

She threw open the door and Uther looked up from his desk. He eyed her warily, then sighed, and dropped his quill into an ink jar. "Do not argue with me over this girl."

"She's an innocent!"

"She reeks of magic."

"She can't help what she is!"

Uther stood. "Arguing has never gotten us anywhere, Morgana."

"What if it was me?" For the first time in one of their arguments, Uther went silent, eyes flashing fearfully. It confused Morgana, but she plunged ahead. "Or Arthur. Would you execute us?"

Uther recovered. "I will not banter words with you. The execution is set."

"I hate you." Her voice was soft, pained, hurt.

Uther blinked. "Do you want to say that again?" he warned.

"You have no compassion. You think only of yourself."

"Out."

Morgana turned, rushing away, a flushed Gwen in her wake.

* * *

 _A soldier slashed at a knight draped in red who dodged the pike. Merlin jumped back, narrowly missing being crushed by a swinging mace. Arthur cried out, gold and silver sword raised high, mounted on a white steed. A thick gold circlet graced his brow, ringed in the shape of a dragon, the wings molded upwards, just touching above the crown of his head. "For Camelot!" He thrust with the sword and was met with a slash from an enemy soldier. Another made for his back, about to lance him through. Merlin screamed, but no sound ushered forth._

 _A winged beast appeared, claws extended, fangs bared, knocking the assailant from his horse. Arthur didn't even notice as he crashed forward into the battle. The catlike animal ripped away the throat of Arthur's attacker, and then stalked towards him. Merlin couldn't back up, couldn't retreat, but it stopped in front of him and sat back on its haunches._

 _He lay his hand between its ears and heard words in his mind._ For him. For you. For us. _They were surrounded by enemies, and he twirled back to back with the beast, readying himself for action..._

* * *

Merlin jolted awake. His chest ached, the wounds flickering with fire. "Gaius?" He rolled his head back and forth. "Arthur?" He was alone. He remembered Gaius making him drink another pain draught. He shook his head to clear it. Such vivid dreams and all of them containing Arthur. He hadn't dreamed of Arthur as The Dragon Man in so long. Why now?  
He contemplated the high ceiling, puzzling it out. Kilgharrah had told him long ago that the dreams of The Dragon Man came from himself, from his destined bond with Arthur. But now the girl, or the bastet, had intruded. What was she, or it, to him? To Arthur?

He recalled seeing Arthur for the first time, the shock and awe and decision to jump in front of him and save him even when he didn't know who he really was. Merlin struggled to sit upright and then stand. He wobbled, but moved forwards, clutching a hand gingerly to his chest.

He didn't know who she really was. He didn't know why she haunted his dreams. But he knew if he let her die, he'd never find out.

Merlin stumbled to the door and out. There could be no execution this day.


	60. Capital Crime

A few minutes before the eleventh hour, Uther entered the King's Balcony and strode to its edge, surveying the pyre soon to devour another guilty soul. He heard Arthur step up next to his right, but his left side remained empty. Morgana had stopped attending the executions three years ago. He had excused her absence as indicative of a woman's lack of strength to face what must be done. Now, as his gaze rested on the pole rising from the center of an enormous pile of wood, he imagined her tied to it and a chill shuddered down his spine.

Uther knew people assumed he felt nothing at executions, which was as it should be. In point of fact, despite his placed exterior, every cry for mercy emanating from flames consuming flesh wormed its way into Uther's memory. He mourned magic's corruption of his subjects, forcing him to follow the law. Sometimes he wondered if he'd perceived magic's evil sooner how many could have been spared. Perhaps then he could have warned his people away from it in a more peaceable way.

Instead, those steeped in magic had chosen to fight against him, to champion Nimueh and her evil. The night Ygraine had perished and Arthur had been almost killed revealed how wrong he had been to let magic run free in his kingdom. The truth had been laid bare before him and his course had been set. And still...

Uther glanced across the courtyard at Morgana's window. He couldn't tell if she stood looking out from it. What if the pyre was hers? He put a hand briefly to his mouth. Could he ever utter words condemning her to death? He feared he could not, that he would betray his own beliefs and laws for her.

Uther pinched his lips together, reorienting his thoughts. The girl to die today was not Morgana. She was a terrifying beast, clearly the product of evil. Her destruction was best, both to protect his people and to relieve her own cursed misery.

* * *

Arthur peered over the balcony's edge. The courtyard had already filled with onlookers. Arthur did not disapprove of capital punishment, but the mobs it drew fascinated him, such unholy desire to behold another's gruesome death. He recalled three years ago when he'd trotted through the courtyard gates, Merlin mounted behind him, head pressed into his back to avoid viewing an execution. He'd wiped away the boy's tears with a gloved finger, thinking him too fragile and in need of toughening up.

Time had changed his opinion. Strength, he'd come to realize, could exist along with compassion and kindness. The boy displayed the combination, tearing up one moment and facing down bastets the next. Merlin's begging for the girl's life echoed in Arthur's ears, his servant boy grieved by the very girl who had wounded him so terribly.

Arthur inched backwards from the balcony's edge, staring into the cloudless blue sky. The girl who had transformed back into human after the bastet attacked Merlin had been weak and helpless, bleeding profusely from a shoulder wound. As Arthur had bundled Merlin into his arms, he had caught her mumbling "I'm sorry" over and over.

Arthur ran a hand over his face, his morning's conversation with Lancelot roiling his insides. His friend had always been honorable and trustworthy. Up until now, Arthur would have relied on his judge of character and the exactness of a matter. If there were one person whose views could have shaken Arthur, it was this man's, a man who had been with Druids, who claimed their desire for peace and freedom to use their magic for good.

And yet, Arthur rebelled against such a suggestion. His own experience proclaimed the pain and evil of magic. _What if your father has driven all those who use it for good away?_ Arthur flinched, a memory he pushed to the back of his mind most days coming to the forefront—the bite of a lash shredding his flesh. His father had judged such brutal punishment necessary and ordered it without hesitation.

Before the incident with the goblin and troll, he might have been able to ignore Lancelot's dangerous views. Now that he'd been on the receiving end of his father's irrational anger, he found himself shaken to the core.

* * *

Lancelot swathed his cloak tightly around his frame and sank farther back into his hood. He dipped his head as he passed through the citadel gates. As a man of honor, he had never intended to enter the gates as long as the king's ruling against him held, but he had also vowed to return Freya to the Druids. When it came down to it, his honor could abide breaking his exile more than a girl's execution.

He mingled amongst the thick crowd, pressing against warm bodies as he pushed through, seeking the entrance to the dungeon where the girl would be brought out. His heart hammered in his chest. He meant to commit a capital crime, yet he had no other choice. Come hell or high water, he would see her freed this day.

* * *

Will waited outside the citadel gates, two horses at the ready. Lancelot had refused to let him enter the citadel. He'd risk his own life, he'd declared, never Will's. But he allowed Will to take part, ready to mount up the moment the former knight showed up with Freya.

Will could hardly contain his excitement. This was why he'd followed Lancelot, seeking the excitement of a life outside of Ealdor. They'd rescue Freya and return to the Druid camp as heroes.

* * *

Morgana stood at her window, brow creased in distress at the pyre soon to be lit. A girl was to burn because magic had been thrust unwillingly upon her. Just like her. Born of a mother who had passed on the gift of seeing to her. Gift? Since when had she thought of her torment that way?

Morgana clenched her hands into fists. She'd attempted to visit the girl to assess her, but she'd been denied entry to the dungeons. She'd briefly entertained the idea of standing in the corridor as the girl was brought forth, sword drawn, threatening to halt the execution, but Uther would just remove her and lock her in a cell.

The knot inside her throbbed, tempting, begging to be let loose and use its might for the girl's aid. Morgana paid it close attention, mental fingers brushing its tangled weaving, but fear pulled her back. She did not know what might explode from it if she dared untie it.

Morgana startled as she concentrated on the crowd. She cracked open the window for a better view. For one second, a bearded face in a hood had glanced up her way. She followed the figure's progression through the crowd, close to the scaffold. It stopped, its way obstructed.

Morgana pressed her hand below her collarbone, her heart thumping against her palm. Lancelot. He had broken the orders regarding his exile from the citadel. Why would he be so foolish? _To save the girl!_ The man she loved wouldn't be able to stand by and watch an injustice like this occur, not now that he believed magic shouldn't earn an automatic death sentence.

Morgana shut the window, hovering for a moment in indecision, then she dashed across the room to grasp her sword. She sprinted through her door and down the hall.

* * *

Gwen ambled towards Gaius' chambers, sad of heart. Poor Merlin. Not only had he been wounded, but he sympathized so for the girl who had caused him injury. He was such a good boy, if a little reckless. She could never forget how much she owed him when he'd aided her away from Meleagant. And to know this cursed girl would die partially because he'd been hurt, Gwen guessed such a thing was killing him.

She quietly pushed open the door, planning to keep Merlin company during the event, turn his thoughts to something else. The patient's cot was empty. He must have moved to his room. She climbed the steps and opened Merlin's door, but he wasn't there either. She turned back, wandering into the vacant room. Where had he gone? And where was Gaius?

* * *

Merlin stumbled down the spiraling stairs and then farther down a hall to another set that would descend towards the courtyard. He stopped several times to lean into the wall, panting breaths. Gods, the wounds hurt! How much sense did it make for him to rescue the girl who had done this to him?

His dreams urged him onwards. This girl meant something to him and to Arthur and he had to know who she was. He tripped on a landing, falling to his knees. He inhaled several deep breaths, then rose. Last flight. He took each step on its own. He looked up when he reached the last one and beheld someone he least expected huddled in the shadows of the arch that led into the courtyard. "Gaius."

The physician turned. "Merlin! You shouldn't be up!"

Merlin struggled towards him, meeting the physician halfway.

"Back up! Now!"

"I can't." He pushed past Gaius and avoided his grasp. He slid into the shadow of the archway himself, scanning the throng of bystanders, noting the pole the girl would be tied to rising above them. "I can't let her die."

Gaius lay a hand on his shoulder, and Merlin made to jerk away, but Gaius' hold tightened. "I'm not as cold as you think I am," the physician asserted.

Merlin looked at him. Gaius stood next to him, gazing out. "I don't think that."

Gaius grunted. "I've argued the girl's death unavoidable as a I did the deaths of many years ago."

Merlin bit his lip. Okay, maybe he'd thought Gaius had given up a little too easily.

"I tried to reach her, claimed I must tend her wound. The king had ordered no one allowed to see her. I thought to get her away from here."

Merlin stared in shock. "You would have risked your life?"

Gaius nodded. "You've taught me much, Merlin, and your bravery is an indictment on an old man. But what can be done now, I don't know."

Merlin stared out. It was a valid question. He'd left the room without a clue as to what he meant to do when he made it to the courtyard. The crowd began to yell. Merlin's heart stalled. The girl must be heading to the pyre.

* * *

The girl emerged from the dungeon blinking, pale, and apparently semiconscious. Soldiers guarded her on all sides and two braced her under the arms to propel her forwards. Lancelot hadn't been able to push through the thick walls of spectators and reach the dungeon entrance before she appeared. The crowd jostled him, preventing even further movement. The girl passed within a few feet of him, but he was blocked from her. Growling in frustration, he turned another direction, throwing manners to the wind as it fought to reach the pyre. If worst came to worst, he would mount the platform, whisk her off it, and hope to cover their escape in the crowd. He already carried an extra cloak to wrap her in, thinking maybe they could blend in for the moments it took to exit the gate.

He knew his hope thin. He'd calculated most outcomes of his mission and they ended in utter failure, but he would rather die trying to rescue her than watch her burn without lifting a finger.

Lancelot made it to the platform and watched as soldiers lifted her up the short wooden steps. Uther started speaking, some nonsense about the evils of magic and his protection of the kingdom. Lancelot had heard such claims before, but this time his usual unease gave way to righteous anger. The Druids he'd befriended, the servant boy in the castle, the woman he loved, and the girl on this very platform meant no harm to Camelot.

He steeled himself, hand grasping his sword hilt. He touched the edge of the platform, ready to boost himself up. He had one regret—he would not meet Morgana later this afternoon as he had promised. He would probably never see her again. And still, a breaking heart could not draw him away from what he had to do.

He gripped the edge, staring up into the girl's haunted gaze. He began to vault until an unearthly screech stopped him dead in his tracks. Everything happened at once. The scream, the sound of glass shattering all around the courtyard, the wood in the pyre exploding to smithereens. He fell to his knees, as did all those around him, covering his ears, the pain of the scream beating into his brain.

As he slumped to the ground and clenched his teeth against wooden shards embedding themselves into his skin, he caught sight of the entire courtyard gone flat, the crowd collapsed as he, except for one lone figure, a boy that he knew by profile. Mordred had come for his friend after all.

* * *

Merlin beheld the back of the girl when she reached the platform next to the pole. Her hair hung stringy and dark and her head lulled backwards several times as if she was trying to stay awake. Uther's voice echoed around the courtyard, lecturing regarding his defeat over magic. Merlin raised a trembling hand.

"What are you doing?" Gaius' voice hissed next to him.

"She can't die."

Gaius' hand clutched his arm. "You do this and you both die today."

Merlin chuckled darkly. "You think Uther could take me?"

"I think you're already wounded and there are enough people here to pummel you into submission."

"Not if I do it right."

"Merlin!" Gaius pushed at his arm, Merlin held strong. But just as his eyes began to glow, the courtyard filled with a piercing, wailing shriek. Merlin jumped, his heart sailing into his throat. Windows across the way shattered and glass rained down in front of their hiding place. Those in the courtyard dropped like flies, but Merlin's magic responded on instinct, fighting the magical burst. He threw up his left arm, shielding himself and Gaius, the physician tipping into him and grasping his shoulder to steady himself. The sound deadened, but they could still observe its effects. What had caused it, they didn't know. They couldn't see past to the other side of the pyre.

Merlin raised his right hand again the moment the girl started to fall. Then, just as with the shield, he acted without much thought and in an instant, the girl whisked away from the platform, flying through the air and into his chest. He cut short a cry as she thumped into his wounds and gripped her around the waist as the scream ceased.

His shield dropped. Gaius gaped. Merlin pleaded. "Help me."

Gaius took one of the girl's arms, Merlin the other, and they retreated as fast as they could.

* * *

Morgana had just reached a hall that led outside, meaning to exit and find Lancelot, join him in his fight if she must to defend his life, when a scream shook the ground under her feet. She stuttered to a stop, hand on a wall, swaying. She felt a surge within, the knot pulsing some kind of power, and she steadied. She stumbled towards the door outside and cracked it open. She gasped.

Everyone in the courtyard lay on the ground, moving, so not dead, but obviously in pain. Near the pyre stood a boy in a green cloak, head thrown back, a wild howl ushering from his mouth. She heard it, but it had no effect on her. He ceased and his head swiveled to the platform. He looked left, right, up, down, as if disoriented or searching for something. A couple guards wobbled to their feet near the gate. Morgana idly wondered if being farther from the boy made them less susceptible.

The guards staggered towards the threat. The boy raised a hand, but it trembled so violently, he lowered it again. He turned, trying to run Morgana thought, but his movement was sluggish and he tripped every few feet over spectators' flailing limbs. He collapsed in front of the door she peeked through, going to his knees, but he looked up and met her eyes.

 _Please. Help me. They're going to kill me._

Morgana stared. Had she just heard him speak...in her mind?

 _Please._

Morgana glanced at the guards, impeded by people beginning to recover in the courtyard. She firmed her jaw and pushed the door open far enough to snatch one of the boy's arms. She pulled him inside, shut the door, and aided him to his feet.

* * *

"To your room," Gaius instructed, shifting his grip on the girl he and Merlin carried between them. Her feet dragged and she was quickly becoming dead weight in their arms. They made it up the steps and settled her into Merlin's bed. "My medical kit."

Merlin struggled back down the stairs, retrieving the bag to return it to Gaius. The physician leaned over the girl, unwinding a soiled bandage on her arm. A disgusting odor emanated from it, and Merlin had to turn away and clasp his hand over his mouth at the sight of oozing puss.

"Infected," Gaius muttered. He began to wipe it clear. Merlin focused on the girl's face, streaked with dirt and eyelids fluttering. He approached his wash basin, poured water into it, and dipped a cloth. He knelt on the other side of the cot, wiping at the girl's face. He noticed now her high brow, long lashes, and delicate lips. He thought as he looked on her she couldn't be a bastet; it was too incongruous. She began to shiver.

"Gaius?"

Gaius had finished cleansing the wound and was mixing a poultice. "She has a fever. The infection, but maybe more."

"What more?"

Gaius' grimace warned of bad news. "Observe her arms."

Merlin peered at them. Her sleeves had been torn away at some point, leaving her exposed. Various bruises dotted each arm, but five distinctive short lines about a half inch thick adorned each upper arm. "Those?" he pointed. "Restraints?"

Gaius concentrated on his preparations. "Fingers. And she has other bruises on her legs."

"She was beaten?"

"Possibly."

Merlin swallowed hard. She was the lowest of the low, an evil sorceress. Of course Uther would allow such degradation.

"I fear..." Gaius stopped speaking.

"What?"

The physician smeared the poultice on her arm and began to role a fresh bandage around it.

"What, Gaius?"

"A moment." He finished and then tugged the tattered dress up along her legs and glanced underneath. He rearranged the torn material, covering her as best he could, and wiped at his eyes with a hand. "There is even more bruising. She's been...used."

Merlin stared, unmoving, revolted, livid. His tone came out low and dangerous. "How dare Uther let this happen."

Gaius sighed. "Uther would not approve of this, but I am afraid when the king throws someone away to the pit, some assume that means they are fair game."

"Who?"

"I can think of three or four guards that might take advantage of a girl like this."

Merlin felt like retching again. "Will she live?" he asked quietly.

"I'm not sure," Gaius answered sadly. Alarm bells began to peal. His eyes met Merlin's. "There will be a search."

Merlin's mouth thinned into a determined line. "I'll protect her, Gaius. With my life if I must."

* * *

Morgana steadied the arm of the boy leaning into her. So far she had met no one on the way; most everyone had gathered in the courtyard for the execution. She worried she might have been seen secreting the boy. She'd almost reached her rooms when he faltered and fell, unconscious.

"My lady?" She heard Gwen run towards her from behind. "Is that Merlin?" The footfalls stalled and Morgana turned, her eyes clouded with worry.

"You need to leave me, Gwen. Now."

Instead of obeying, Gwen crouched down, running an eye over the boy. "Who is he?"

"Now!"

Gwen looked up in confusion. "Tell me who he is."

Morgana shook her head. "If I do, you're in danger, too. Just don't tell anyone you saw him with me, please."

Gwen stood up, locking eyes with her mistress. "You need help. I can help you. I don't care who he is."

Morgana's heart flooded with relief and she grasped at the chance not to walk this danger alone. "I'm breaking the law. He was in the courtyard. He did magic."

Gwen peered down at him. "But he's just a boy like Merlin."

"Children have magic. Youths. And should they all end up on the pyre like the girl?"

Gwen seemed undecided for a moment, but when she looked up into Morgana's pleading eyes, the ward saw nothing but confidence. "Let's get him to your chamber, my lady. We can conceal him in the reading alcove."

* * *

Arthur's ears still rang and he fought to keep his attention on his father. Once they'd regained enough strength to stand, they'd retreated to the council chambers. The king was talking quickly, ordering a lock-down of the citadel and its courtyard. Not long after the warning bells started to clamor, and Arthur, who had developed a headache, really wished they'd shut up.

"How many are in the capitol?" Uther was asking no one in particular. "And why?"

Arthur at least heard that and spat out irritably, "To rescue her, of course." Uther sent a withering glance his way and he knew he'd spoken too sharply. "Clearly friends of the girl rescued her," he restated in a more respectful manner.

"I meant the deeper purpose of the attack," Uther snapped. "The boy that screamed was only one. There may be more. I want to know how many."

"We won't know until we search, my lord," a councilor spoke slowly. Arthur wondered if the residual effects of the scream pained him as well. The event replayed in Arthur's mind―the glass behind him breaking, a guard grabbing him and throwing him down, rising to see the pyre destroyed, both the girl and boy gone.

"Sire!" It was Leon. "I have spoken to people in the courtyard. Some say the boy entered the citadel by a door, and others the girl flew away―" Several councilors glanced at one another in fear at that point. Leon went on. "But where she went no one is certain. They might be within our walls."

"Arthur, I want every inch of the citadel searched. Top to bottom. Do not leave any part of it unexamined."

Arthur nodded shortly. He marched towards the doors. He still held enough of his father's confidence to take on tasks like this, and yet, his feelings agitated under the surface. He kept wondering why part of him was relieved he hadn't seen the girl burn.

* * *

The moment Lancelot observed guards shutting the courtyard gates and separating the crowd into groups for questioning, he made a beeline for the armory. Lucky for him, most of the guards as well as the onlookers hadn't entirely reclaimed their equilibrium. By virtue of his knight's training, he'd learned to bounce back quickly from attacks. He forced his body to move and slipped into the barracks. He found his target, a black and yellow shield tacked to a wall. Reaching behind, he unlatched a small hook and swung the shield momentarily aside, then lifted himself into a hidden space. He let the shield fall back into place and secured it once more. After crawling a short distance, he dropped into a tunnel. He smiled grimly, remembering when Arthur had discovered this ancient escape route at the age of thirteen and they'd had good fun exploring it. It didn't lead anywhere but to a barred exit shrouded in hanging vines. Lancelot rubbed at the pendant on his neck.

He waited for a time, and let out a pent up breath when the vines made way for a familiar face. Aglain frowned at him with a creased brow. "What has happened? They shut the gates to the city."

"Mordred," Lancelot replied. "Screamed and took out the pyre."

Aglain shook his head. "The boy is powerful. I should have searched for him with you." He looked Lancelot up and down. "You're wounded."

"Shards from the pyre," Lancelot murmured. He'd been aware of the rivulets of blood slipping down his face, but he'd ignored them until now. "Freya disappeared. He must have taken her."

Aglain lay his hands on the grate, muttered some unintelligible words, and lifted it away. When Lancelot exited, he set it back and spoke again, securing it. "We must get away from here. I must heal you."

"Will," Lancelot mentioned as he let Aglain take his arm.

"The boy is with you?"

Lancelot shook his head. "He was waiting for me outside the citadel."

"We will aid you and then find him. Come."

* * *

"He did this? How?"

Morgana shook her head in answer to Gwen's question. "I don't know. I've never seen anything like it. He yelled and the whole courtyard broke."

Gwen continued to pick up pieces of glass from the floor. As she rose, she glanced through the broken window into the courtyard. Guards were herding the people into groups. She scanned the windows of the courtyard, all of them like Morgana's, blown apart by the boy. "What happened to the girl?"

"I didn't see."

"She's not there."

"Maybe they took her back to the dungeon," Morgana murmured. "I think he must have been trying to save her."

Gwen dumped the shards of glass into a bucket and joined her mistress. "How is he?"

"I don't know," Morgana worried. "Whatever he did, it must have taken a lot out of him." She had her hand on the boy's arm and Gwen noted how tightly she held to him.

"Why did you hide him?"

Morgana fixed her eyes on Gwen. "He said they'd kill him and Uther would, just for trying to help her." Something seemed to occur to Morgana and she jumped up, letting the boy go to run to the window. She searched the courtyard, looking for Lancelot and not finding him. Had he slipped away? He must have. Surely he was smart enough to get out of there.

Alarm bells began to peal. Morgana rushed back to the boy. "I'll draw the curtain. Don't come out, don't speak, and don't let the boy do either if he wakes." As Morgana expected, not long after someone rapped on her door. She knew at the hint of any danger, Uther would check on her.

She opened the door. "Thank the gods! I wondered how long it would take someone to care about me," her haughty tone chastised.

"My lady," the guard returned apologetically. "I see you are unharmed."

"Of course I'm unharmed. Though my window has broken."

"Yes, my lady. A boy in the courtyard did that."

"A boy? Throwing rocks?"

The guard looked amused. "It was magic," he laughed, as if she was a stupid princess without a brain. "We're looking for him. You haven't seen him?"

"I've been in my room all this time. You may inform any search parties the boy is not with me."

"Yes, my lady."

Morgana shut the door in his face with a last scathing look. She blew out a breath and locked the door, then rushed back to the alcove, sliding in on her knees next to Gwen.

"I wish I were as sly as you." Gwen smiled at her.

"Don't. I've had to develop it to survive. It's not the life for you, Gwen. Stay as innocent as you are."

Gwen looked back at the boy as Morgana ran a hand over his forehead. "You're risking so much for him.

"Could you see him dead?"

Gwen stared at him for several seconds, then answered unequivocally. "I couldn't. He's only a boy."

"Then we must see to him until we can find a way to get him out of here safely."

* * *

Merlin stiffened when he heard what Gaius had expected―a knock at the door, guards searching the citadel. Merlin crept to his door, pressing his ear against it to listen. The voice wasn't a guard's, but Arthur's. His eyes darted to the girl. If Arthur found her here, rescued by him, what lie could he possibly invent to excuse such a thing _and_ save her life at the same time?

Arthur explained what happened in the courtyard in response to Gaius' inquiry and concluded with a question. "So you've been here the whole time?"

"Yes," Gaius replied, and it occurred to Merlin that his answer was so casual, Gaius must have had as much practice as he in lying. He hadn't ever considered how much the physician had deceived the royals he served since he'd arrived.

"Where's Merlin?"

Merlin's heart thrumped so loudly, he was sure it could be heard in the next room.

"He woke and I set him in his room. He'll be far more comfortable there. He just fell asleep again. I'd rather not disturb him until I must."

Arthur didn't speak for a second, then, "Well, when he does wake, I guess he'll be happy the girl wasn't executed. It makes no sense, Gaius. She hurt him."

"And this was no fault of her own making," Gaius responded assuredly.

"Even so."

"Merlin understands this. Why does that trouble you, sire?"

"Could it be...his mother. Did you know she studied magic once? He might think of the girl like her, tainted with magic."

"I do not think Merlin would ever consider his mother _tainted_."

"No, but―"

"I know what Merlin's mother did. Think of it. Would you call it tainted?"

Arthur replied loudly. "Magic isn't some neutral force. It's evil." He paused for a second. "It is, Gaius, isn't it?"

"It is unlawful."

"That doesn't really answer the question," Arthur noted suspiciously.

Merlin's heart beat wildly. Why was Gaius saying this stuff, tempting Arthur to think him conciliatory towards magic?

"Uther is my king, and his word is law. " Merlin heard Gaius stand and shuffle about. "I must see to my salves. They will be needed by those wounded in the courtyard. Only nicks and scratches you said?"

"Yes. I'll be back later to see Merlin."

"Of course, my lord."

The door opened and shut. Merlin slumped back on a stool by his bed, trying to breathe easy again. Gaius opened the door, came in, then shut it, leaning back against it. "Well, that was something."

"Why did you let him suspect you were okay with magic?" Merlin asked.

Gaius' eyes flitted to the girl. "We're already in deep, my boy." His tired blue eyes rested on the warlock. "You have challenged our prince, and it seems my time has arrived to do the same."


	61. Twin Fates

Arthur marched back to the council chambers to report the findings of the search of the citadel, his mind in turmoil, his back itching uncomfortably. He grumbled, reaching behind to scratch at scars that sometimes irritated him. His teeth clenched. There were times he could barely look at his father without disgust these days, and it was exhausting having to pretend away the fact his very body bore truths about his father he'd never meant to consider.

 _What if your father has driven all those who use it for good away?_ Lancelot's challenge tumbled through his brain once again, adding its voice to Gaius' recent words. Magic was unlawful, Gaius asserted readily, but he hadn't admitted it was evil. And he'd brought up Merlin's mother. Arthur stewed. She had been thrown in his face more than once. Back in Ealdor, he'd been livid over her choice. One step, one dalliance with magic was costly, no matter how good it seemed.

Arthur brushed a hand across his forehead, philosophical studies he'd disdained in his youth coming back to him. Results didn't justify means. Wasn't that what one tutor had claimed? So even if magic _could_ defend innocents, that didn't mean using it was right. His father had recited story after story about good friends corrupted by magic's influence.

Arthur arched his back, unwillingly recalling the lash tearing into him. He'd gone against a king's order, his father's, and according to the law that meant he'd deserved what he'd been given, just as magic users deserved death for choosing such a path. Trouble was, he didn't believe he'd done the wrong thing, and this made him wonder, what if others hadn't done the wrong thing either?

Arthur did what he had gotten so good at, pushing tumultuous thoughts to the back of his mind as he opened the council chamber door. His father looked up, troubled, tired, and surrounded by council members. Arthur strode to the end of the long table and clasped his hands behind his back. "We found nothing," he reported.

Uther slammed a balled fist into the table. "How many times must we be assaulted with magic?"

Arthur remained impassive. He didn't have an answer. Camelot seemed a draw for sorcerers, a target. _For those who fear death and pain at a king's hands._

Halig, Arthur hadn't noticed him until he leaped up, cried out, "What about my reward? I was right. The girl has magic."

Uther waved a dismissive hand. "You may have your reward after you explain how you captured such a creature."

Halig held his wide brimmed hat in his hands again, turning it in agitation as he had before. "I had heard of a possible location of a Druid camp. Was on my way to find it, thinking maybe to snag one or two to bring for your judgment, my lord."

Arthur folded his arms over his chest. Snag one or two. The weaselly way of the man grated on him. Enemies should be attacked head on. More images flashed before Arthur's eyes―captured Druids kneeling in front of him, a child ripped from a mother's arms, his fathers' knights using such as a catalyst to fight, and a boy leaping in front of him to prevent a killing blow.

"I found her alone, gathering I guess. Her arm bore the Druid mark, so I took her."

Uther narrowed his eyes. "She didn't fight back with magic?"

"Her magic's weak, I think. Her eyes glowed, but nothin' happened."

Uther glanced at his fearful councilors. "She didn't fly?"

"No, sire."

Arthur wondered at the reports the girl had flown away. She'd been barely conscious, and if she didn't possess the power to escape, then what had happened to her? Most likely a confederate of the boy's rescued her.

"And the bastet?" Uther questioned.

"She changed second night I had her." Halig fingered the scab on his cheek.

Uther stood and gestured to his closest adviser. "Give him his reward." Halig grinned as he was led out the doors.

"Father," Arthur spoke up, commanding Uther's attention. "I recommend we double the patrols in the towns. She has already attacked one of us." Another proof of magic's evil, then, right?

Uther scowled at the use of the term _us_ , but conceded with a wave of his hand. "See to it."

Arthur bobbed his head shortly and left the room.

* * *

Lancelot had kept still as Aglain extracted the shards embedded in his skin from the pyre's explosion. Even with magic, the work was slow, but it was gentle and at the end of the process he ran a hand over his face, amazed that every wound he'd received had closed up. He'd thanked the Druid and made his way back to Camelot. He'd convinced Aglain to stay behind until he could assess the current situation.

The gates had reopened, and Lancelot made a beeline to the citadel, searching for Will. The boy wasn't stationed outside the walls anymore. He eventually tracked him back to the inn. When he entered their room, Will jumped up and rattled through a breathless diatribe.

"Where were you? I waited and then they shut the gates and I didn't know what to do. What happened? I heard a scream. Is she dead?"

"I'm not sure what happened. Mordred was there."

"Mordred?"

"He screamed, something with his magic. The pyre shattered. I didn't see Mordred or Freya after. I assume he rescued her."

Will stared in shock. "We need to find them."

Lancelot sank onto the bed. "I'm not sure."

"But we need to get them back to the camp."

"Why, Will? If they've escaped, they'll head back themselves. I won't know how to find them."

"Aglain?"

"He'll search for them, but he can't guarantee he'll sense them. He'll return to the camp in a day and make sure they arrive." Will slumped dejectedly next to him. Lancelot put a comforting hand on the boy's back. "It didn't go according to plan, but it's for the best. Now you aren't in harm's way."

"I don't care about that."

Lancelot smiled softly. The boy desired recognition, to be a hero. "What a knight does when no one is around to honor him is more telling than anything else."

Will sighed. Lancelot wondered if he should inform Will about Merlin being injured. What would it accomplish? Mordred and Freya were gone. Perhaps it would be best to let sleeping dogs lie for the moment.

* * *

Morgana rang out a wet cloth as she considered the unconscious boy reclining on the padded stone bench of her reading alcove. A candle burned in its holder nailed to the wall, casting the boy into waves of flickering light. She guessed he was about Merlin's age, though stouter and perhaps a head shorter. That he hadn't woken yet concerned her. Sweat had beaded his forehead and she held the cloth to his brow.

A tingling shivered up her arm the moment she touched him and she gasped. It felt like when she'd touched Aglain, something inside radiating out from him, but it was stronger than she'd sensed in the Druid elder, and the knot responded, writhing. Morgana pulled her hand back, letting the cloth remain on the boy's forehead, and pressed a hand into her abdomen.

The door opened. Morgana could hardly breathe, but managed to whisper, "Gwen?"

"It's me, my lady," Gwen assured.

Morgana heard the lock click. Gwen crossed the room and pushed back the curtain to kneel next to her. She held up a bowl in her hand. "I have food for when he wakes."

"Good," Morgana muttered. "What did you find out?"

"The citadel's been searched and they're sending patrols into the towns."

Morgana let out a nervous breath. So far, so good.

"And the girl is gone."

"She is?"

"Both him," Gwen indicated the boy with a finger, "and the girl disappeared from the courtyard. Some say the girl flew."

Morgana stared in shock and awe. "Flew?"

Gwen shrugged. "But you know, my lady, people say many things when they are afraid."

"True." Morgana looked back at the boy. "He's safe anyway. For now. And I hope she is as well."

"He can't stay here."

"We'll have to get him out."

"How?"

Morgana firmed her jaw. "I know who can help us." Her tone hardened. "You would never betray Lancelot?"

Gwen's brow furrowed and she spoke vehemently. "You never have to ask such a thing. Of course not."

"He's done something unlawful."

"What?"

"He's visited Druids. He can get the boy back to them."

Gwen stared at her for several seconds. "Why would he do that?"

Morgana hesitated. She longed to be upfront about her magic to Gwen, but the girl was attached to Arthur, and even though her maidservant was loyal, she feared an unintentional slip of the tongue. "He wanted to find out if what Uther has done to them is right."

"Is it?"

"What do you think, Gwen?"

"I...don't know."

Morgana hovered a finger just above the right side of the boy's neck where a swirling Druid tattoo showed. "He's a Druid. He bears their mark. And he came for the girl. I don't believe all Druids are evil. We have been lied to, Gwen."

"What about Merlin?" Gwen's tone didn't contain challenge, but concern.

"We can't blame her for his wounding if she was cursed. Think of it, Gwen. What if someone punished us for the goblin's actions when it possessed us?"

Gwen bit her lip. "I hadn't thought of that."

Morgana reached for the cloth again, and this time expecting to feel magic, let her hand linger. This boy was speaking to her through his very being. They were kin far more than anyone else she had ever met, even Aglain. It was her duty to see him protected.

"What about Arthur?"

"What about him?" Morgana asked absently.

Gwen worried her lip again. "He thinks all magic is wicked. If he knew we did this... I won't tell him, but I hate to lie to him."

"Uther I cannot change," Morgana spoke quietly. "But sometimes I think there is hope for Arthur, that he can be better than our king."

"That's dangerous talk," Gwen hissed.

"But necessary," Morgana replied. She met Gwen's conflicted gaze. "Arthur can change. You can help him, Gwen. He needs someone with a tender heart like yours to show him the way."

Gwen flushed and looked back at the boy. Morgana removed the cloth to dunk it once more in her water basin.

"Lancelot can help us get this boy away from here and back to the Druids. I intend to meet him this afternoon. The boy will not die at Uther's hand."

* * *

Merlin tried not to squirm on the stool he occupied while Gaius applied more slave to the stitched wounds on his chest. They hurt, but he clenched his teeth. He'd refused the medicine that made him drowsy even though it frustrated the physician. He wanted to be fully cognizant when the girl awoke, so Gaius had to content himself when Merlin swallowed a less potent liquid. It took the edge off, but didn't squelch the pain entirely.

Merlin concentrated on the girl still asleep in his bed. Together they had cleaned her up as best they could, and every bruise and wound now stood out starkly against her pale skin. Some of the marks he had observed when she had been brought to court and chained up in the dungeon, but many were new. Rage burned in Merlin's chest. Used. She'd been _used_. The word made her sound like a tool. And that's all she had been. A tool for some guard's perverse pleasure.

Merlin stifled a whine when Gaius hit a particularly sensitive area. _It could have been me._ If he had been caught and thrown in a dungeon, he would have been chained, beaten, mistreated. What would guards do to him if he was at their mercy? He would have fought back. Did she? Could she with that horrible bolt wound?

"Arthur needs to change," Merlin muttered.

Gaius set his salve jar down and reached for fresh bandages. "He has and he will."

Merlin glared at the physician's as he began to roll the fresh bandage around his chest. "He has to change faster. These things can't happen anymore."

"Change doesn't often happen according to our timetable. You want Arthur to abandon a fundamental view of the world he's held since he could comprehend Uther's teachings."

"Maybe...I should just tell him."

Gaius paused. "Tell him..."

"I have magic."

Gaius suddenly gripped Merlin's chin hard with one hand. "Not yet."

"But he trusts me."

"Now. If you tell him when he still thinks it possibly evil..."

Merlin sagged downwards.

"He would at the least exile you. At the worst, the war within himself, his views on his duty to his people...I am not sure where he would land. Listen to me for once, boy, and say nothing."

Merlin's jaw grew taut. He knew Gaius was right. Arthur had changed some with hints of more to come, but he'd have to wait. How long?

"Gaius?"

Speak of the devil. Merlin straightened and whimpered at the stings on his chest. "It's Arthur."

"He'll want to see you," Gaius reminded him. He steadied Merlin by his arm and helped him to the door. Arthur had just reached the bottom of the steps to Merlin's room as they appeared.

"You're up," he noted.

Merlin nodded as Gaius shut the door and aided him down the stairs.

"Not for long, sire," Gaius remarked. He set Merlin on the patient's cot. "He regains strength, but more rest is needed."

Arthur took a stool next to the cot as Merlin lay down upon it. Arthur's gaze ran over the bandages. "I have bad news...or good to you, perhaps."

"What?"

"Gaius hasn't told you?"

"The girl."

"She escaped." His stare grew focused as if Merlin was to be judged by his reaction.

"I'm glad." Merlin's lips crushed together.

"And you're angry."

Merlin meant to shrug, but grimaced when it hurt too much.

"Why?"

Merlin's eyes flicked to Gaius whose expression shouted warning, but he felt too upset to care. He looked back at Arthur. "She was in the pit."

Arthur nodded slowly. "Y-es."

"Do you know what they do to people in there?"

Arthur's face scrunched up in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Gaius had moved closer and his eyes dug into Merlin, begging him to stop.

"They hurt them. Beat them. And if it's a girl, they do, they..." Merlin choked.

Arthur seemed to get the point, shaking his head. "My father didn't order―"

"He doesn't have to," Merlin practically shouted, pushing up on his elbows and groaning at the effort. "He puts them there and the guards think they can do what they want with them."

"I don't know who's been telling you things..."

"Everyone knows, Arthur! They talk about it. How can you not know? How can you not care?"

Arthur's eyes glowered. "Merlin. Calm down." He pushed Merlin back by the shoulders and Merlin let him, too frustrated and worn to fight back. "Gaius?" Arthur called out.

Gaius cleared his throat. "I have heard rumors of what Merlin claims."

Arthur exhaled a lengthy breath and Merlin couldn't help but fix him with a smoldering gaze. Arthur was far too ignorant of his own citadel's ways. _This_ man would unite Albion, free magic? Merlin had believed it, bolstered by the dreams, but now, looking at a man wracked with indecision, he doubted.

"Rest," Arthur murmured. He stood and bolted to the door and out.

Gaius let out a harsh breath. "You were too hard on him."

"Someone has to be." Merlin struggled to sit up again. "You haven't. Or Gwen. Maybe Morgana, but she doesn't even understand."

Gaius approached and crouched down to stare into Merlin's eyes. "Anger will lead you to a path you cannot take. I have seen those before you walk it—Nimueh, Aredian, even your father for a time. It turned them into shadows of themselves and drove goodness from them."

Merlin's heart thumped like a racing horse. He wasn't Nimeuh or Aredian or his hurt father. He would never be.

A clatter drew their attention to Merlin's door. "The girl." Merlin stood, rushing to the steps and up, biting his cheeks against the pain. As the door swung open, Gaius was at his back. The girl was on the far left side of the room, arms braced on his desk. She turned when she heard them, her eyes wide and wild and terrified. She held up a hand, her entire arm shaking, her lips trembling.

"No closer! I'll kill you!"

Merlin raised both hands in surrender. "We won't hurt you. Gaius bandaged your arm, and we're hiding you."

Her eyes darted between them and around the room. "Where am I?"

"My room," Merlin said. "In the citadel."

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. "I'm going to burn."

"No," Gaius assured behind Merlin. "We will not allow it."

"No one else knows you're here," Merlin added. "You can trust us."

The girl's eyes traveled his chest. "I know you. You...you tried to stop me. Hurt me."

"I didn't want to. You turned into a bastet. You don't remember?"

"No...Yes. Oh, gods!" Her outstretched hand drew back to her mouth. "I hurt you." Tears appeared at the corners of her eyes. "You should have let me die."

Merlin felt the prickle of wetness in his own eyes. "We couldn't."

Gaius slid around him, approaching her as he would a frightened rabbit, holding out a hand. "Dear child, you cannot blame yourself." He laid a hand on the girl's arm, and she gulped a sob. Merlin watched her crumble into the physician's arms. How long had it been since she'd been offered such kindness?

Gaius directed her to Merlin's bed and gently pressed her to sit. Merlin observed her dress again, exposing more than could ever be appropriate. He opened his wardrobe, withdrawing a shirt and trousers, then held them out to her.

"I know they're not girl's clothes, but you can wear them."

The girl reached out with quivering hands and took them. "Thank you," she mumbled.

Gaius rose and pointed to the door. "You may also use Merlin's washbasin. Call when you are ready and Merlin will bring you some food."

The girl nodded slowly as they left, and Merlin wondered at the flutter in his heart and an odd feeling that he didn't want to ever be removed her presence.

* * *

Morgana had feared Lancelot wouldn't be waiting under the oak tree, that he'd been caught even though Gwen's inquiries had turned up nothing involving him. She was so relieved to see him she threw herself into his arms. He held her close and kissed the top of her head.

"My love and my heart," he whispered. "Can you forgive me?"

She nodded into his chest. "I have. You only meant to help."

He pulled back to take her cheeks in his calloused hands. "Will you see Aglain again?"

"Maybe, if..." She ran a nervous finger over her lower lip. She glanced at the gate and the guard there. "Walk with me."

Lancelot cradled her hand once they reached the edge of the town, skirting its main thoroughfares and entering an open field. Morgana halted to sit on a fallen log. He joined her. No one lingered nearby.

"You were in the courtyard. I saw you look at my window."

Lancelot's hand squeezed tighter around hers. "I was."

"You wanted to rescue the girl."

"Yes, but it didn't turn out the way I thought it would. Mordred..." He pinched his mouth shut.

"Tell me." She stared intently into his dark eyes.

"It will put you in danger."

Morgana suddenly laughed and Lancelot looked alarmed. She pulled her hand away and patted his shoulder. "I already am."

"Uther suspects your magic," Lancelot breathed out sharply.

Morgana shook her head. "I am careful. No. Who is Mordred? Please tell me everything."

"A Druid boy. I came back here for you, but also, a girl was taken from Aglain's camp. I promised to get her back, and Mordred, he's her friend, and he followed."

"He must have been the one screaming in the courtyard," Morgana ruminated softly.

Lancelot nodded. "He needn't have. I would have saved her."

Morgana leaned into his arm. "Did you?"

"Mordred did, I think."

"He didn't, but the girl got away. No one can find her."

"How do you know he didn't?"

Morgana didn't move from his shoulder. "He's in my chambers."

Lancelot snapped upright, turning to grab her by the upper arms. "You can't."

"I won't let him be caught and killed."

"You have to get him out."

"That's why I need your help. We have to figure out how."

Lancelot let her go, marveling at her. "You are as brave as any knight." He leaned down and kissed her tenderly.

* * *

Arthur had done his duty, organizing the doubled patrols of the towns, but he doubted the girl or boy would be found. Who would be foolish enough to stick around Camelot after rescue? Still, to satisfy his father, he did as he was bidden.

He had meant to return to his chambers, sorting through papers and replying to letters since he was absent his servant scribe, but his feet carried him to the dungeon. He passed soldiers and guards and descended lower and lower until he found the grate overlaying what they called the pit. He knelt and one whiff of the place roiled his stomach. It was pitch black, the light of the torch in his grip swallowed up before it touched its darkness.

He stood and backed into a wall. He had been here once long ago, but didn't remember why. Maybe during one of the cursory tours his father had insisted he undertake in his youth to familiarize himself with their castle. As he stared into the deep dark, he imagined how terrifying the pit must be, but necessary for some, yes? The most violent and brutal had to be kept away from the innocent.

 _But the girl?_ his mind questioned. _Not the girl,_ he objected. _The beast within her._ His inner voice replied, _Even so, would you condone beatings and rape?_ And he feebly excused, _She was to die anyway._ A rhetorical question: _And that made it right?_

Arthur backtracked quickly, craving the light of day. He handed his torch off to a guard at the entrance and sucked in a long breath of free air when he exited into a hallway. He had begun to walk away when Leon appeared in the hall.

"Sire," the older man greeted, bowing his head as he passed.

"Leon!" Arthur called after him. The man stopped and turned. "I have a question."

Leon marched back. "Yes, my lord."

"The pit. Do you know what happens to those concealed there?"

Leon's gaze dropped from his eyes, and Arthur's gut twisted. "I have heard some speak of it."

"They mistreat them even without orders."

Leon looked up, and Arthur wondered at the hope in his expression. "And that bothers you, sire?"

"My father wouldn't allow it."

Leon drew in a deep breath. "Your father looks the other way."

"What?" Arthur asked in disbelief.

"He has been told of the rumors. He does nothing."

Arthur swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a moment, his cries and the lash in his mind once more. He stared hard at Leon. "I want you to inform all guards and knights this ends now on my authority, and if anyone is ever heard to have done such a thing again, they report to me. Understood?'

Leon bowed his head, a smile glinting in his eyes. "I will see to it immediately."

* * *

The door to Merlin's room cracked open and a wavering voice called out. "I'm dressed."

Gaius eyed him. "Be gentle with her. Assure her we will aid her as we can." He went back to the books he'd laid open on his table, searching for the answer that eluded him.

Merlin winced as he carried a bowl of Gaius' stew up the stairs into his room. The girl had retreated to the head of his bed, sitting with her back to him, one shoulder propped against the wall. Her hair was damp and he was glad he'd procured a fresh cake of soap recently. He walked around the bed to find her arms clasped around her middle. It felt strange to see a girl wearing his clothing.

"I have stew."

She turned to him, but didn't look directly at him as he held the bowl out to her. She took it and spooned some into her mouth, chewing very slowly.

Merlin backed up to his wardrobe. He procured a red shirt and slipped it on, then sat on the other end of the bed. "What's your name?"

The girl muttered, "Freya."

"Freya," Merlin tried it out. "That's pretty."

The girl didn't smile, but her eyebrows rose.

"You're a Druid?"

She shook her head.

"But, your tattoo..." He broke off when her head whipped up.

"Why are you helping me? Is this a trick?"

Merlin looked aghast. "No. It isn't."

"Then why? I clawed you. I remember blood." She set the bowl in her lap, scrubbing at her eyes with her fingers as if she meant to dig the image out of them.

"I'm like you," Merlin explained.

She stopped. "Like _me_?"

Merlin cupped his hands and a moment later light streamed out of them. He pulled them apart and a blue orb floated into the air, hovering above him. He waved his hand and it floated to her. "Hold out your hand." The girl carefully reached out and opened her fingers. The orb settled into her palm. She put a finger right through it, and it vanished. "I have magic."

Freya picked up the bowl again, eating faster. She paused. "You aren't like me. You don't kill."

Merlin wrung his hands in his lap. "I have," he whispered. She looked up at him again. "I've killed three men. I had to. They would have killed me and my friends."

Freya deposited the bowl on a crate next to his bed. "But I kill anyone no matter their intentions."

"When the moon touches you. It's a curse."

Freya yanked at several strands of her wet hair. "They didn't think it was."

"Who?"

She looked up, startled, as if she hadn't meant to speak. "No one. What will you do with me?"

"Gaius is trying to create a potion to stop your transformation, and then, I can take you to Lancelot."

"Lancelot. I saw him in our camp."

"He came to save you."

"But you did instead."

"Well, Mordred, too."

Freya's eyes widened. "Mordred's here?"

"I don't know where he is. He did this spell or something. It broke the windows and the pyre exploded."

Freya clasped her hands to her head, distraught. "He got angry. I told him never to do that."

"He meant to save you."

Freya shook her head. "No. That doesn't matter. He promised me to stop being angry."

"Well, anyway," Merlin continued, not quite understanding why she'd be so adamant Mordred not try to rescue her, "I kind of pulled you off the platform and then we got you up here. No one knows you're here, and Mordred, he got away, at least, they haven't found him anywhere."

Freya's hand rubbed at her right wrist over the swirling Druid tattoo.

"The tattoo?" Merlin returned to his original question.

Freya glanced down at the tattoo. "I was alone, and the Druids found me. They gave me a home, protection. They...kept me from hurting anyone."

"My friend Will told me you and Mordred are friends."

For the first time, a smile lit Freya's mouth. Merlin liked it and smiled himself in response. "Will. He's a nice boy. He was nice to Mordred. Not many are."

Merlin bit down on his tongue to keep from saying he could see why. Mordred had been trouble from the moment he'd hidden him.

"Mordred and I...we both lost our families."

"I'm sorry."

Freya's mouth turned up slightly at the corners. "Don't be. You didn't do anything to our families."

Merlin waited for her to continue, but when she didn't, he stood. "You want to see something?" He wandered over to the crate under his window and jumped up. He whistled. Not too long after, Nero appeared, flapping into his room.

Freya gasped and ducked when Nero circled the room and landed on his shoulder.

"His name's Nero. He's a kestrel." Merlin approached the bed. Nero bobbed a couple times before hopping down onto Freya's leg. The girl was still as stone as he picked at the end of a strand of her hair hanging over her shoulder.

"Nero!" Merlin chastised, sitting down on the bed near Freya and swatting at the bird who jumped away. "He lacks manners, but that really means he likes you." Nero settled into Freya's lap. Merlin grinned. "That's the first time I've seen him do that with someone else."

Freya gingerly ran a finger over his feathers. "He's beautiful."

 _So are you_ , Merlin thought, then shook his head. Where had that come from?

* * *

Night fell. Morgana had spent most of the day at Mordred's side, fretting over his unconscious state. Lancelot had agreed to a plan, and she would send Gwen to him when they were ready. She lay the fingertips of her right hand on the boy's arm, his familiar tingle dancing through her hand and up her arm. Morgana glanced into the rest of her room. The curtain was drawn back now, the fear of search and intrusion passed by. Gwen slept in her bed, turned on her left side, breathing heavily and perhaps dreaming as her eyelids fluttered. Morgana idly wondered what it would be like to dream peaceful, good dreams like the ones Gwen must have.

A stuttered breath drew her attention back to the boy. His fingers flexed and his head turned side to side. Morgana withdrew her hand from his arm. A couple more seconds and his eyes opened. He blinked once, twice, and focused on her.

 _You saved me._ The voice in her head sounded amazed, grateful, and clear.

Morgana nodded.

 _Thank you... Who are you?_

"I am Morgana," she replied. "The king's ward."

 _And you have magic._

"How do you know that?"

 _You can hear me._

"Only those with magic can hear you?"

The boy nodded, then gripped her wrist. _It's strong, your magic. Like mine. I feel it even without touching you, but..._

Morgana didn't pull away, waiting breathlessly for him to say more.

 _It's chained. Why isn't it free?_

Morgana tugged at her wrist and the boy let go. "I can't let it out."

 _Why?_

"As I said, I am the king's ward."

 _You fear the king._ The boy's words were derisive. He laughed in her head. _You could kill him with one stroke of your magic._

Morgana's chest heaved. That was exactly what she feared.

The boy suddenly seemed to think of something else and he sat up, but then wobbled dizzily. Morgana reached out a hand to stabilize him at his elbow. _Freya. I didn't see her._

"The girl you meant to rescue is gone."

Mordred's eyes flashed. _Dead?_

"Missing. She must have fled or someone helped her."

 _Emrys._

Morgana tilted her head. "What?"

 _Who. Emrys. He kept his promise. She will be safe._

* * *

Freya had fallen asleep soon after the stew when Gaius offered her a draft. Before then, she had insisted on Merlin's window being blacked out. They'd tacked several layers of clothes above the opening to drape over it and block any moonlight.

Merlin occupied the patient's cot again, but his mind flitted all over the place. He felt angry at Arthur for being so ignorant of Uther and magic and justice. He felt frustrated that he had been handed a destiny so slow in the making he feared it would never come to pass. He felt pity for Freya, for the unfair life she'd been dealt, and he worried her trials might not be over, that the things he had seen in his dreams would come to pass.

He hadn't mentioned his dreams yet. How could he? It would sound ludicrous telling her he had dreamt of her and Arthur and swords and battles and a raging bastet. He didn't think she'd have any more clue than he did what it all meant.

The fire had burned low, and Merlin stared into it, trying to let it soothe his soul until the whispers started. At first, he'd looked back at the door to his room, thinking maybe Freya spoke in her sleep, but it didn't come from that direction. He glanced at Gaius whose mouth hung open, obviously not the source either.

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut. He'd never really believed in ghosts, at least, not for a long time, but stories from his childhood came back to him then. The whispers continued and he covered his ears, afraid. When he did so, the words became clearer. It was a conversation. Did ghosts talk to each other? He'd thought they only tormented the living.

Then one word rang out: _Emrys._ And Merlin recognized the voice―Mordred. _Emrys_ sang again in his mind and more words. _He kept his promise. He will keep her safe._

Merlin opened his eyes, sitting up. The voices faded. Mordred wasn't here in the room, but somewhere near, within the citadel. He hadn't made it out after all, and somehow, he knew Merlin had Freya and hadn't let him down.

 _Merlin._

Merlin jumped half out of his skin. This voice was loud, deep, and commanding, and he hadn't heard it in quite a while. "Kilgharrah?" he whispered.

 _I am coming._

"Here?"

 _You have set into motion the twin fates of Albion._

"The...what?"

 _I will explain when I arrive. You will come when I am ready._

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks for reading and sticking with this fic! Little by little our characters are growing and big decisions loom on the horizon.


	62. Magic that Binds

Merlin perched on the edge of the patient's cot, debating if he should try and cross the citadel after curfew to find Mordred. It didn't sound like he was in any trouble, but if he'd hidden in the castle, he might need help. Or maybe he was looking for Freya? But he'd seemed to accept she was in his care.

He'd just risen when a hoarse whimper emanated from his room. He changed his intended direction, climbing the steps to his room and carefully pushing open the door. A soft sniffling met his ears. "Freya?"

"It's so dark," she mumbled in a frightened voice.

Merlin's eyes gleamed and the candle on his desk flamed to life. It wasn't much, but even the single light held darkness at bay in his humble room. Freya huddled on his bed with her back to the wall, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, clutching herself securely. Merlin approached and touched her arm. She flinched and looked up at him, palpable fear in her eyes.

"You're safe," Merlin vowed to her. Freya buried her head in her knees. Merlin lowered himself next to her feet. "I know what they did to you. The guards. I won't let them hurt you ever again."

A sob escaped Freya's lips. "We're always hurt. Always."

"We?"

"Bastets." She raised her head, tears gracing her cheeks. "We're not what you think."

"There are more than you?"

"I don't think so." She rubbed at her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Not any more."

"But there _were_ others cursed?"

"They weren't. I wasn't." Freya's dark eyes grew terrified. "You'll kill me."

Merlin felt compelled to take her hand, so he reached out and folded his own in one of hers, squeezing tightly. "I will not kill you."

Freya squeezed back and seemed to receive the courage she lacked. "My family, my father and mother and brother and sister. We all possessed the change."

Merlin marveled. "You _all_ became bastets?"

Freya nodded. "We weren't cursed. My parents, their parents had 'the change,' too. We kept it secret. We lived far away by a mountain and a lake, just us."

"So you wouldn't hurt anyone," Merlin intuited.

"My parents _never_ would hurt anyone. They could control it. They didn't change only in the moonlight, but whenever they wanted."

"It's not a curse," Merlin restated, attempting to wrap his mind around the truth.

"It's not. And they were teaching me how to control it, but then..." She let go his hand and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyelids.

"What?"

"Some men saw us change on a hunting trip. We didn't know they were there and they attacked. My father and mother tried to fight them, but they were wounded, so we ran. The men chased us home and...they stood outside shouting..."

Merlin could barely breathe. "They killed your family."

Freya nodded, hands still covering her face. "Burned our home. My father broke a window and only I escaped." She cried into her hands.

Merlin's gut knotted. He'd sometimes imagined what it might be like to face the pyre, and now he pictured his home in Ealdor burned to the ground at the revelation of his magic. How was it right for anyone to be treated this way?

Merlin shifted, crouching, legs bent under him on the bed so he could face her. "I'm sorry."

Freya peeked out between her fingers. "You don't hate me even though it's not a curse?"

"How could I?" Merlin asked incredulously. "You're like me. We both have to hide who we are and if people knew... They'd do the same to me that happened to your family."

Freya stuttered a breath and wiped her eyes again, this time with a sleeve. "Oh. I'm messing up your shirt."

Merlin smiled at that. "It's okay."

Freya looked back at him. "I've never met anyone like you. Even most of the Druids kept their distance, knowing what I was capable of. You don't seem afraid of me, and I hurt you."

"I'm not afraid. I know you didn't mean to."

Freya finally smiled tentatively. It made Merlin feel all swirly inside, like butterflies inhabited his stomach.

"What about...Mordred?" He'd thought of telling her Mordred was nearby, but he feared she'd insist she look for him, and he couldn't put her in danger wandering the castle.

"Poor Mordred. I'm not sure how his mother died. He didn't have a father. At least, his mother never told him about him."

A bit more sympathy for the Druid boy welled up inside Merlin. He knew how that felt.

"Our camp took him in a year ago. He's never talked. I tried to be kind to him, look after him. He's angry most of the time and sometimes he can't control it, like me...and the moon...and the bastet." She clutched a hand to her chest. "I feel it. All the time. It's there. But it's not always scared like it was when I hurt you. Most of the time when I change, I feel the world, clearer, more beautiful, leaves and trees, all of it speaking to me like we're friends. I don't hate the bastet, but I do, because I can't stop it attacking when it's afraid."

"It's instinct," Merlin stated. Like when he'd first arrived in Camelot and prevented Gaius falling down the steps or in Ealdor, when he'd conjured the wind to save his mother. "It protects you. That's not wrong."

Freya abruptly reached out and brushed her fingertips over his shirt. "But I could have killed you because I couldn't make it listen to me."

Merlin curled his hand in hers again. "I'm fine. Please don't feel guilty about that. You didn't know I wasn't going to hurt you."

"This is why you're so different," Freya spoke softly. "Because you know all this, and you touch me anyway."

Merlin's heart raced. He wanted to do more than hold her hand. His eyes ran over her lips. Freya broke their hold and he felt a keen loss.

"You should sleep. I'm keeping you up."

Merlin forced himself to breathe. "I don't have to get up early. I can't work until I heal enough." He slowly stood. "But you should sleep."

Freya glanced around the room. "I don't want to be alone. Will you stay?" Merlin nodded, unable to speak. Freya lay down in the bed. Merlin made to lay on the floor, but she spoke again. "We can share the bed. I don't mind."

Merlin's heart leaped and he gingerly lay down next to her on his own side, snuggled close enough to feel the heat radiating off of her.

"You can extinguish the candle," she mumbled tiredly. "With you here, I'll know I'm safe."

Merlin's eyes lit gold, plunging the room into darkness once more. He listened to her breathing and tried to steady his own. _Always,_ he promised silently. _I will always keep you safe, no matter the cost._

* * *

Gaius had risen early, determined to figure out a potion that would eliminate the girl's transformation. He'd frowned when he noticed the patient's cot absent Merlin. Quietly he'd opened the boy's door and lifted his right eyebrow at finding him in his bed next to the girl. It wasn't in any way proper for two at their age, but he hesitated to bolt inside and wake them up to a lecture he felt embarrassed even considering. They were both fully clothed anyway and lying back to back. It didn't _appear_ anything untoward had taken place.

Gaius crept back down the stairs to his worktable, scratching at his cheek. He'd never envisioned he might have to talk to Merlin about _girls_. His mother must have told him something, after all he understood what had happened to the girl so he grasped at least the concept of the birds and the bees. But had he been warned of the lusts of heart and mind that caused one to lose all sense? Gaius chuckled, remembering a few of his own experiences, then sobered. Heavens. After all this time as a bachelor, he'd never thought he'd have to contemplate _this_ kind of conversation.

So it was when Merlin stumbled down the stairs an hour later muttering about breakfast, he placed a bowl of porridge before him and sat down across from him. "The girl?"

"She's asleep," Merlin said. "I'll bring her some when she wakes."

"I wasn't thinking of the porridge. I meant..." Gaius motioned at the door with a wiggle of his fingers. "You slept. In there."

"She woke," Merlin explained. "She was scared, so I stayed with her."

"Merlin," Gaius began, taking a long preparatory breath, "do you understand what it might mean to a girl to sleep by her?"

Merlin stared at him for several seconds, then his mouth fell open. "Gaius! No. No. It's not like that."

"Well, you are a youth and sometimes can feel things that make you...do something you might regret."

Merlin flushed red and dropped his spoon. "I didn't."

"Perhaps not yet, but sometimes control is lax at your age."

Merlin widened his eyes. "I can't believe you're talking about this."

"I know how you might feel," Gaius continued. "I wasn't always so old."

"I don't feel anything!" Merlin insisted, but his eyes dropped to his bowl.

"Nothing?"

"Not...much."

Gaius smiled. "Just be careful, my boy. She can't stay. You know she must leave. Don't let your heart get too close to something you can't have."

"I have to tell you something."

"About the girl?"

Merlin looked up. "She's not cursed. The book we found was wrong. Her family all could become bastets and her parents were teaching her to control the change, but they died."

Gaius stared hard at him. "You're certain it isn't a curse?"

Merlin nodded. "I believe her. She only changes in the moonlight and she attacked me because she was scared and when she's like that, the bastet tries to protect her. She's good, Gaius. I know it."

Gaius rubbed at his chin. "If this is true, I wonder if I can even help her. A potion may be ineffective."

"Yeah," Merlin replied. "I worried about that."

Gaius slapped a determined palm on the table. "But I can still try."

Merlin grinned in thanks. "There's another thing."

Gaius looked warily at him.

"The Druid boy, Mordred, I heard him last night."

"Heard him?"

"He can speak to those with magic through his mind and I heard him. He's here, somewhere in the castle."

Gaius' brow twisted in worry.

"I thought I should look for him, but I don't want to leave Freya."

Gaius sighed. "Arthur completed his search yesterday and found nothing, so I doubt if he is here he has been discovered. Still, I can make some discreet inquiries. You should remain here."

Merlin grinned. "Good, and, eh..."

Gaius cocked his head. "What else?"

"The dragon talked to me, too. He said he's coming to see me. Something about awakening the twin fates of Albion." He stared guiltily at the physician. "I've kind of been dreaming about Arthur and Freya. They're like the dreams I had before I met him, only she's there now."

Gaius crossed his arms over his chest. "I swear you attract more trouble than anyone I've ever met. Twin fates? I've never heard of such a thing." He wiped his brow. "One thing is for certain, Merlin. You will certainly never make my life dull."

* * *

Morgana watched as Mordred gobbled up his breakfast, now occupying her table. She smiled at how much he reminded her of Merlin, though, of course, Merlin didn't have the connection she had with this boy, the magic that called to her. She concentrated for a moment on the knot, wondering what it might be like to let it go.

 _Beautiful._

Morgana looked up, startled. "What?" Had he heard her thoughts?

 _You're beautiful._

Morgana laughed. "I've been told that by many men."

 _You remind me of my mother._

"Is she with the Druids?"

 _She's dead._ Mordred's bright blue eyes nailed her, and she felt his pain in waves even from across the table.

"How did she die?" Morgana asked quietly.

Mordred concentrated on his plate and continued to eat as he spoke in her mind. _I was very little. We were attacked by Camelot knights._

Morgana pressed a hand to her neck. "They killed her?"

 _They saw her use magic._ His answer was matter of fact with a hint of sarcasm. _I tried my first spell to save her. It failed. They turned on me and..._ His hand clenched around the spoon in his hand. _I made them let me go._

Morgana swallowed. "Using magic?"

 _I took the air of one and they backed away. I ran._

Morgana stared at the dark brown head bowed over the plate. A child with magic, scared, having seen his mother killed, reacting in defense. Because Uther's Purge had allowed it, more than that, reveled in it.

Mordred finished eating and sat back in his seat, fixing her with a stare. _We need strong people like you. People who can show the king he is wrong._

Morgana recovered her breath. "He knows how I feel."

 _But you could bring him to his knees._ Mordred grinned.

Morgana looked away, the vision of cradling Arthur at Uther's vigil shaking her once more. "He has cared for me. I'm distressed by all he has done and I would have it end, but..."

 _But you'll let people like us die._

"I don't want to," she whispered.

 _Then stop being afraid to set your magic free._

Morgana faced those challenging eyes, fiery depths imploring for freedom. A series of knocks sounded, drawing their attention. Morgana stood and went to the door, glad for the interruption. She opened it enough for Gwen to squeeze through.

"Did you find Lancelot?" Morgana asked.

Gwen nodded. "He's ready. He'll be waiting tonight. He can get you back to Aglain." She smiled at Mordred. The boy only nodded.

* * *

Arthur swung his sword at the training dummy, satisfied at the resounding thunk when it made contact. He kept on, thrusting, slashing, smacking until sweat dripped down his back and into his eyes. He paused to recover his breath and glance around the field. Knights that had been looking his way found their own practices interesting again. He must be a sight, flinging himself at the dummy as if it had impugned his honor.

He strode over to a water bucket and pulled out the dipper, gulping off the end to parch his thirst. He wanted to convince himself nothing was wrong, that he couldn't possibly be this upset over Merlin's words, but they'd stung too deeply― _How can you not know? How can you not care?_

How _could_ he not know? How much had he missed because he'd never questioned his father's laws and judgments? Prisoners beaten or raped. Right under his nose. For years maybe. So many times he'd stood next to his father witnessing a pyre burn or a back bloodied, and it had never occurred to him to ask if it was right.

Arthur thrust the dipper back into the bucket, causing water to splosh about and hit the ground. Merlin at twelve intruded once more, face buried in his back to avoid seeing a head lopped off. A boy so easily touched whose opinion should mean nothing to him, but meant the world.

His father would dismiss Merlin's sensibilities as over-emotionalism. He had himself several times. And yet, that very emotionalism had resulted in his good multiple times. Merlin had saved his life more than once, risked himself to bring him medicine after his flogging, showed up in the cells to protect him from a girl who might be dangerous. As much as he felt he should discount Merlin's accusations, he couldn't.

Arthur sagged onto a bench, elbows propped on his knees, head in his hands. Why did Merlin matter so much? He'd become so much more than a servant boy long ago. Arthur viewed him unashamedly as a brother, but why? Because Merlin had dedicated most every waking moment to his care. Had returned from Ealdor with a man who would condemn his mother if she ever stepped foot in Camelot. Had freely made himself second to a prince he adored. _And has always seen me as better than I am._

Maybe that's why it grated so much: _How can you not care?_ He did care more than he ever had, but he wasn't sure what to do about it. Duty demanded his submission to his father, and yet a rapidly blossoming part of him warned he'd pledged his allegiance to the wrong person for too long.

* * *

Merlin had spent the morning with Freya. She joined him in crushing herbs and they made small talk, Freya seeming reluctant to share any more personal information now that the sun filled his room. Merlin didn't mind, and although he knew he should be worried about Mordred nearby and getting Freya away from the castle, he felt content in the girl's presence, her smile and quirks somehow precious to him after only a day.

Nero fluttered from his shoulder to Freya's. He'd been flitting between both of them, but sticking more to Freya. "Why do you think that is?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," Merlin responded. "He must sense your magic...and well, maybe..." He hesitated.

"Yes?"

"Maybe that you're like him... I mean, the bastet is an animal, so..."

Freya looked thoughtful and Merlin loved the way her brow creased when she considered something he'd said. "I suppose that would make sense." She caressed the kestrel.

"Merlin?"

Merlin turned to the door. "Gaius. I'll go see what he needs." He jumped up from his desk and traipsed down the stairs.

Gaius slumped down at his table strewn with open books that so far had proved unfruitful in the task he'd set himself. He plunked his medical bag on top of one. "I'm too old for deliveries. I need you well."

Merlin sat down, briefly touching his shirt over the bandage. "They still hurt, but they're better."

Gaius smiled knowingly. "I think that girl has done more than medicine ever could."

"Please not more of that girl-boy talk," Merlin pleaded.

Gaius chuckled. "If you've been behaving yourself, I don't need to."

"I have," Merlin insisted, but his cheeks warmed. "I would never do to her what they did."

Gaius' expression sobered. "I know, Merlin, and I didn't mean that." He tapped a finger on a thick tome in front of him. "No one has heard of the boy since the attempted execution. If Mordred is here, he is well hidden."

"He's here." Merlin's voice lowered so Freya couldn't overhear. "I keep hearing whispers. I think he's talking to someone."

"Can he hear _you_ in his mind?" Gaius asked.

Merlin straightened. Why hadn't he thought of that? "Yeah, he can." He wondered that it hadn't occurred to him to talk to Mordred himself. He closed his eyes, concentrating. _Mordred...Mordred? I hear you._

 _Emrys._ The voice was muffled, distant. _Freya?_

 _She's all right. Where are you?_

There was a pause so long Merlin thought the Druid might have gone silent, but then Mordred spoke once more. _I think it best not to reveal that._

 _Why?_

 _I do not wish to endanger the one who protects me._

 _I won't tell anyone._

 _Perhaps not, but you would do nothing to help either._

 _What do you mean?_

 _How long have you known and done nothing? Your fear restrains you. Freedom will come through me._

 _Mordred...Mordred!_

Merlin opened his eyes to Gaius looking at him expectantly. "He is here, but he won't tell me who he's with. Did anyone see how Mordred escaped?"

"He fled into the citadel. That was all that was reported."

Who might be sympathetic to a Druid child? There had been so many in the courtyard that day.

"Have you told Freya about the dragon?"

Merlin inhaled deeply. "Not yet."

"Or your dreams?"

"So much has happened to her. I don't want to scare her."

"I assume the dragon coming involves her somehow. She should be prepared."

"I'll tell her."

Gaius eyed him skeptically.

"I will!"

* * *

Mordred watched the maid exit once more. The plan was in place to smuggle him out this night, but he wasn't ready to leave, not until he'd persuaded the beautiful young woman currently settled in a chair working at an embroidery. He sat stiffly in the reading alcove, observing her as she sighed.

 _You don't like it._

She laughed. "I'm not much for courtly ways."

 _Because you were not born to be._

She fixed him with a penetrating green-eyed gaze. "You're so abrupt. I should scold you for it, but you're so like me, I can't bring myself to."

 _You were born with magic. It is a part of you and will not be denied forever._

Morgana thinned her lips.

 _What scares you?_

"The king."

 _That he could kill you. I told you you could prevent him._

"It's not that..." _Only._ "I've seen something." A tremor laced her admission.

 _A vision. You are a seer?_

"I've been told my mother was."

Mordred smiled. _Honor her memory. Let your magic go._

Morgana set down the embroidery and stood, pacing. "I saw...death."

 _At your hands._

"I've been told..." She couldn't go on. How could she be Uther's doom?

 _I have seen many die at Uther's hands._ _You could be our salvation._ Emrys should have been, Mordred realized. He didn't doubt Emrys' word that Freya was safe, but that the long-awaited warlock had been in Morgana's good graces all this time and done nothing irked him. Fear radiated out from her, potent and strong. How could he not have urged her freedom, used her position and power to their good? _Death might be the way forward._

Morgana stopped and turned to him. She had killed more than once in her lifetime, defending the innocent in Camelot and in Ealdor, but those had been battles with a sword. Never had she thought to wield an untapped power within her very being, a power outlawed and hated and feared.

 _How many must die before someone takes up our cause?_

Morgana closed her eyes briefly, remembering the sorceress shouting she was Uther's doom, the vision in the cave, and the strange woman calling her sister and claiming the time had come for Uther's reign to end. Could Uther's dreadful ways cease without destroying the man himself?

"What of all the evil magic has done?" she whispered.

 _What good cannot exist without evil?_

Morgana shook her head at him. "You sound so...hopeless."

Mordred suddenly stood, closed the distance between them and clasped her hands. _Please. We need you. We are dying, and we will be no more if someone does not take up our defense._

Morgana pulled her hands from his grasp. "I don't know. I need time to think."

He nodded in consent, but reveled in the blood racing through his veins. Certainly she was the answer to all he'd ever dreamed.

* * *

"Father."

"Arthur."

"The patrols have found nothing. I do not believe the boy or the girl are within the walls of our city."

Uther looked up from a parchment spread out on his desk. "Sorcery deceives. We cannot be certain. Keep them vigilant."

Arthur rocked back and forth on his heels. "I...had an inquiry."

Uther leaned back in his seat and held up a hand for his son to continue.

"I have been made aware of the treatment of prisoners in the cells."

"What of it?"

Arthur swallowed. "Beatings, maiming...at times, prisoners used for pleasure. These things have been done without your orders."

Uther linked his fingers. "Such has been the way for centuries." He caught the naked horror in his son's eyes before he schooled his features once more. That boy, Merlin, had changed his son, weakened him, made him more willing to question. "You do not reign yet. You have not experienced the fact there are unpleasant yet necessary parts of ruling."

"But, prisoners' mistreatment in our dungeon?"

"A dungeon is not meant to be pleasant," Uther explained. "If they do not wish to end up there, they must not commit the crime." He stood and marched over to his son, locking eyes with him. "A king cannot afford compassion. He must be decisive and punish those who would undermine his authority."

Arthur took a shuddering breath. "Why did you whip _me_?" The inquiry was barely audible.

Uther started, his heart skipping a beat. The broken question spoken without malice exposed the elephant they'd avoided all these months. "The troll―"

"No excuses," Arthur begged, childlike in his pleading, eyes hungry for an answer that would make everything right.

Uther stared into his son's troubled visage and recalled the first time he had seen those whip marks on his back. When he'd ordered the flogging, he had thought it would shock Arthur back to him, but since then his son had done nothing but flee and fall more under the influence of that wretched servant boy. "I had no choice. You had shown the people you held no respect for me." _Please let him understand!_

"I have always tried to respect you."

Now Uther's voice trembled as emotion weighed heavily. "Even if the tax was...misguided...it was my order and should have been upheld, especially by you. You are my son, Arthur, my only heir. The troll wanted me to kill you, deny you your right...I couldn't. It is you I want to see on the throne."

Rare tears glistened in Arthur's eyes. Uther did something he hadn't in months―he made contact with his son, tenderly touching his shoulder. In truth, he'd reviewed his actions under the influence of the troll and wondered what else he could have done. Would he have done any different if Arthur subverted his orders without the creature's involvement? His son's defiance would have warranted punishment in any circumstance, but he could have opted for something less invasive.

"Someday," Uther spoke slowly. "You will rule, and you will have a son and desire his absolute trust. Then, you will understand. I would do anything to keep you, Arthur. Anything, but I cannot change what has happened."

Arthur nodded once. He backed away to the door and left. Uther crumpled onto his bed. Dear gods. What had he done? And how would he pay for it?

* * *

Merlin entered his room, shutting the door and leaning against it. Freya held a book in her hands, the grimoire.

"You know all these?" she asked.

Merlin shook his head. "I can read them, but I've only memorized some."

"My magic's never been very strong," Freya confessed. "It's mainly the bastet, I think. I can warm water." She smiled and Merlin's heart thumped against his ribs.

"I have to tell you something."

Freya lay the book in her lap and sat up straighter on the bed. "What is it?"

"I don't just have magic. I'm also a...dragonlord."

Freya's mouth dropped open.

"That means―"

"Someone who can control dragons."

Merlin tilted his head in surprise.

"My father and mother used to tell stories about them. They said Uther killed them all."

Merlin relaxed, relieved she already knew about dragonlords. He sat down next to her, one leg on the bed, the other dangling off. "My father didn't die."

Freya gazed at him in awe. "But, even if the dragonlords exist, the dragons are dead."

Merlin smiled. "Not all."

"There are dragons?"

"One. Kilgharrah."

Her eyes rounded and she spoke excitedly. "And you can control him?"

"Not exactly. I haven't yet. But I can talk to him, and he can talk to me. Over long distances."

"I wish my parents had known. They used to mourn the dragons."

"Kilgharrah's coming here."

"But..." Freya now stood, looking frightened. "He'll take me away."

Merlin rose as well. "What? No. He's just coming to talk to me."

"He's a dragon," she panicked. "He'll want me."

Merlin stepped closer to her. "He won't. He..."

"We're bound to them!" Freya shouted.

"What do you mean?"

Freya yanked at the ends of her long hair again. "The bastets are their servants. Bound to them for all eternity. He'll make me his forever."

Merlin blinked. No, it couldn't be true. "He didn't say that..."

Freya rushed him, throwing her arms around him. "I want to stay with you, Merlin. Please don't let him take me." She shivered in his grasp, and the scent of his soap lingering in her hair shot through his body like lightning. He wrapped his arms tightly around her.

 _Young warlock._

Merlin glared. _Kilgharrah._

 _I am near. Come to me tonight in the woods._

 _Do you know about the bastet?_

A pause. _I do. You have let yourself become attached to her. I feel it, yet it cannot last._

 _Will you make her a slave to you?_

 _Never a slave._

 _Will you bind her to you?_

 _Merlin, it is her purpose._

 _I won't bring her._

 _Merlin..._

 _I won't!_

The dragon's voice shouted in his head. _She cannot deny her purpose as you cannot! If you do not bring her to me, she will die! Only I can save her from herself. She and I are as bound as you and the young Pendragon. You have perceived her role in the future to come. Release her, or risk her death and the destruction of the prince you hold so dear._


	63. Escape

"You trust the dragon?"

"I do, but..."

"He knows much more than I, Merlin. In the old days, the counsel of the dragons was often sought out and almost always followed.."

"But enslave her?" Merlin protested to Gaius.

"He did not say enslave, and neither did she. A servant, just as you."

"But he said she would be _bound_ to him. That sounds a lot different than being a servant."

"Hasn't destiny bound you to Arthur?" Gaius prompted with a raised eyebrow.

"That's not the same thing."

"Perhaps it is if the dragon believes he is the only one who can save her."

" _We_ can save her."

Gaius gestured at the expanse of books littering his table. "I have found nothing. I can only believe there is no way to control her transformation. And even if we could, we're avoiding the fact that she seems to have a larger purpose."

Merlin shook his head. "I won't drag her into all that."

Gaius sighed. "You have a purpose and your dreams seem to suggest she does as well. Perhaps the dragon knows if you keep her from it, death awaits her and Arthur as well."

Merlin ground his teeth. That was _exactly_ what Kilgharrah's words had implied, but he refused to believe it.

"Merlin?" The feminine voice interjecting caused Merlin's stomach to sink and churn. Had she heard? He looked up from across the room where he'd been trying to argue in a whisper. "What dreams?"

He closed his eyes a moment, then stood, facing the girl he'd found himself so attached to in such a short time. Everything about her made him feel invincible and alive and consumed with protecting her. "Nothing."

She approached, eyes reading him as she had his grimoire. "You aren't telling me something."

"We can get you out. Now. Before Kilgharrah comes."

Her shoulders tremored, tears brimming. "I feel...I don't know why...I want to stay with you...forever."

Merlin about broke at such a declaration and held out a hand to her. She took it. Gaius cleared his throat.

"Both of you, please sit."

They obeyed, not letting go, placing their joined hands on the table.

Gaius eyed both of them in turn, then let his gaze rest on Freya. "I wish I could tell you choosing a life here is possible, but even if we were to attempt to hide you indefinitely, the possibility is high you would be found. Perhaps you are willing to risk yourself, but Merlin's punishment if you were discovered could mean his death."

Freya looked upset, like she hadn't considered this, and pulled her hand out of Merlin's grip.

"We can leave," Merlin asserted, eyes fixed on Freya. "Go somewhere no one can find us. A place with a mountain and a lake, like your home."

"And forget your part in Arthur's destiny?" Gaius questioned, tone appalled and chastising.

"I don't care!" Merlin exclaimed, glaring at the physician. Gaius' hand shot across the table, his fingers circling hard around Merlin's wrist and startling the boy so used to his gentle ways.

"Merlin! You are not _thinking_. You cannot abandon Arthur, not after all this time."

"What has he done, Gaius? Nothing's changing here. I'm not doing any good."

"That's a lie, my boy, a lie to cover what you know in your heart is true."

Merlin scowled at the physician, but Gaius held his stare, and Merlin's thoughts unwillingly flew back to Arthur and his dreams.

"Leaving would salve you only for a time, and you would regret the day you hear Arthur has chosen the way of his father."

Merlin swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes burning as moisture rose in them. Gaius let go. Merlin closed his eyes and wiped at his lids.

"Merlin." Freya's small voice again. "You can't be hurt because of me ever again. I will leave...with the dragon."

Merlin didn't dare open his eyes, too afraid to behold the determination he heard in her tone. It wasn't fair. For once he had a friend, a confidante, someone who knew exactly what it was like to be him, and she was going to be ripped away from him.

"What have you dreamed?"

He finally blinked, clearing the mist in his vision. "They're just dreams," he croaked.

Freya shook her head. "You have magic. Strong magic. My mother told me many things, and among them to listen to the dreams of sorcerers."

Merlin dipped his head, concentrating on his wringing hands. "I used to dream of Prince Arthur before I met him. It's how I knew him when I saw him. I'm supposed to be his destiny. We're linked somehow."

"There is a prophecy," Gaius clarified when Merlin paused too long. "Camelot's peace depends on Arthur, and the warlock Emrys must bet at his side to lead to this future."

Merlin peered up under his fringe to see Freya nod, and she bent her head to met his eyes. "What about...me?"

"You're there now," Merlin confessed. "It's partly why I saved you. I would anyway, but...it was just another reason to." Freya took his hand again, softly squeezing and dismantling the rest of his will. He looked up at her fully. "I think you're supposed to help Arthur, too. You give him a sword and you join a battle. I don't know what it means." He neglected the dream where he'd seen himself dying for her by Arthur's hand.

"Tell her what the dragon said." Gaius' tone brooked no argument.

"You heard from him?" Freya asked.

"He said he doesn't intend to enslave you, but that you have a purpose to be bound to him and that if he doesn't help you...you'll die...And Arthur, too."

Now that he'd related the conversation out loud, Merlin knew he had no other option. As Gaius had asserted, he trusted Kilgharrah, and the dragon who had been annoyed leaving his sanctuary to come to his aid before had left it now of his own accord. He wouldn't have unless he'd needed to.

"I wish...there was a way..."

Freya sighed deeply. "Ever since you told me about him, I felt something drawing me away, that I had to go to him. You trust him?"

Merlin hated to admit it, but he couldn't lie to her. "I do."

She nestled her forehead into his shoulder. "Then I do, too."

Merlin glanced at Gaius, whose visage proclaimed the rightness of her decision, and he found he couldn't blame him. As he often was, Gaius had been the voice of reason.

"How can we?" Merlin asked, turning to the practicality of it. "He wants me to come tonight and the moon..."

"But it's okay," Freya insisted, sitting back up. "I know you won't hurt me. I can change without fear around you."

Merlin nodded. "We'll go out when night falls, then." She nodded at the same time as Gaius, but Merlin only felt a forlorn twisting in his gut.

* * *

Gwen secured the clasp of Morgana's cloak, nervously biting her lip. The ward's hand grasped hers, tightening in reassurance. "We'll be all right."

"It's just so dangerous," Gwen worried. "You should let me take him."

Morgana smirked. "So if Uther catches you, he can cast you to the dungeon."

"Don't forget what he did to Arthur."

"He wouldn't dare do something like that to me," Morgana scoffed. For some reason, she had always gotten out of all kinds of things Arthur never could. She'd attributed it to Uther's relationship with Gorlois. His closeness to her father had been evident when she'd been taken into his care―he wore black for months, bore circles under his eyes from nights of mourning, and regaled her with tales of the excellent man her father had been.

Morgana turned to Mordred. Gwen had brought one of her brother's old cloaks. It was too long, really, but Mordred had wrapped the edges around his arms freeing his feet from tangling. His blue eyes mirrored the candles lit in the room, heightening the intensity of his gaze. _I cannot leave you yet. Your magic is still chained._

Morgana smiled kindly. "You have given me much to think on."

 _Think? How long will you think?_ His gaze smoldered.

Morgana flicked her eyes meaningfully to Gwen, indicating she couldn't say much out loud.

Mordred's anger calmed. _You are careful because of your maid._

"When we reach our destination, perhaps there will be time to say more."

Mordred slowly nodded.

Morgana looked at Gwen. "We're ready."

"I'll send the signal," Gwen said, slipping out into the hall.

* * *

Lancelot's heart quickened when a light flickered from one of the Citadel towers, then went dark―once, twice, three times. They were on their way.

As he sneaked around to his post, he thought of Will waiting for him with Aglain. The poor boy. The lad had been affronted to be thrown out of the action once again. He was a good enough boy, but would be even better if that tendency towards arrogance and bravado could be worked out of him. He possessed courage, but little sense, unable to submissively accept Lancelot's not placing him in danger of experiencing Uther's wrath.

Lancelot picked his way through back alleys, finally crouching in one across from the rarely used garden gate, securely locked down. It should be only minutes until they appeared if all went well.

* * *

Arthur motioned one set of knights to take the right side of the lower town and his contingent to head left. He strode leisurely, leaving duty to the knights in front of him as they scoped out shadows and various hiding places. Searching was a waste of time, in his opinion, but he'd sought escape from the Citadel, so he'd switched places with Leon who had easily given the monotonous patrol up for a night off.

Despite its uselessness, the boring patrol was a relief. He felt lighter away from the castle that seemed to oppress him on every side these days. He had gone to his father, afraid to ask the question that burdened him all these months, but when he had, the answer had been revealing. His father wanted him on the throne. Still. Even after everything.

Something his father had said pricked at him now: _Someday, you will rule, and you will have a son and desire his absolute trust. Then, you will understand._ He'd often considered himself as a king, what he might do once the throne was his, but never had he imagined what it might be like to be a father.

He wondered now, if he were king and had a son, and that son blatantly defied his command in public, what _would_ he do? He thought of his father demanding Merlin's punishment for being in the dungeon when he had no permission. Arthur had argued against any consequence at all, knowing Merlin's good intentions. But the boy had been wrong, deserved some discipline. It only made sense, and yet...

Arthur stopped for a moment as the knights' ahead scoured an abandoned building. He recalled Merlin stammering he'd accept a whipping, and the utter revulsion that flipped his stomach at the suggestion. For a split second he'd imagined Merlin chained to a wall, nasty red gashes decorating his skin and he'd almost felt he could retch. He could _never_ do that to anyone. Never.

The knights moved on. Arthur lagged behind, slowed by his conflicted thoughts. Was he weak, then? As king, he would _have_ to order punishments that might be distasteful to him, and on people he didn't want to see hurt, maintaining order as his father did. Maybe he _would_ see everything differently when he ruled and guided a son. Maybe he'd better man up and start developing the ability to do those hard things he hated for the good of his kingdom.

Arthur clutched the hilt of his sword, gusting out a breath. He'd erred. He'd spent the last few days too worried over Lancelot's and Merlin's words. Their one-sided views had dominated his mind, but his father deserved a hearing, too. It was only fair to give him a chance.

* * *

Merlin peered around a corner at the east gate. Two guards on watch. He inhaled, eying a banner hung above their heads. His eyes glowed and it let loose, fluttering down atop them. They grunted and messed with the fabric, but in the time it took to wriggle out, Merlin had grabbed Freya's hand and pulled her past.

They ran down the lane, Merlin sending out his sight, searching for the patrols. His sight froze when he caught a familiar outline―Arthur. Great. This _would_ be a night he joined in the searches! He withdrew his sight. "Come on." He chose a path currently skirting the two patrols.

Huddled in a dark alley, his eyes gleamed again and a ball of light formed, affording them the ability to see. He spied Freya now, scared and quiet. "You don't have to do this," Merlin reminded her.

Freya looked sadly into his eyes. "It will protect you...and me."

Merlin both hated and loved her bravery. He grasped her hand once more. The ball of light bobbed in the air near him, illuminating the path. The moon hadn't risen yet and they had to be out of the towns by the time it did. They had maybe ten minutes by his estimation.

Merlin sent out his sight once more. No patrols to the southeast. They continued on as fast as they could.

* * *

Morgana reached the small garden gate. Gwen had procured its key earlier from the steward and insisted she not ask how. Morgana fiddled with the rusty lock, and the key jammed. A figure appeared on the other side of the bars.

"Trouble?"

"Lancelot," she breathed.

His eyes upbraided Mordred. "You've been too much trouble. You should have stayed out of everything."

 _Because of_ me _Freya is free_ , Morgana heard Mordred snap. She decided not to relate what the Druid had said, continuing to jiggle the key in frustration. Mordred nudged in front of her, waving a hand. _Aliese duru ryne_. His eyes glimmered from within the hood of his green cloak. She turned the key once more and the gate easily creaked open.

Lancelot grabbed Mordred by the arm, ignoring the boy's attempt to push away. "I've got him. You return to your chamber."

Morgana shook her head vehemently. "No. We do this together."

"Morgana," Lancelot hissed.

"If you get caught, it could be death. You need me. I can talk us out of anything."

Lancelot reluctantly laughed. "You probably can." He stared her down, but only for a second until his gaze relented. "Then let's get moving."

Morgana clasped Mordred's hand when Lancelot let go, and they followed the former knight into the city streets. Lancelot had informed her through Gwen he'd tracked the patrols and plotted a route that should keep them out of the way. Still, they stayed vigilant, keeping to shadows as much as possible.

* * *

The longer the patrols wandered, the more tedious the night felt. Arthur started to regret convincing Leon he'd take his place. All he wanted now was a bed, sleep, and a new morning to start over.

He slowed, catching something flutter in his peripheral vision. He readjusted his grip on the torch in his hand, glancing at the knights ahead, then back at the side street. It was probably nothing, a prowling cat most likely, but better safe than sorry.

Arthur moved stealthily, his boots hardly making a sound on the rocky ground. He paused, then rounded, scanning an alley. His eyes slotted. Figures at the other end, shadows. Still, probably simply villagers breaking curfew. A night in the dungeons for them, then. He stepped into the alley. "You. Stop."

They did as ordered for only a second, then broke into a run. Arthur cursed and sprinted after them.

* * *

"Merlin!" Freya clutched at the his arm. "I can feel it starting!"

Merlin secured his grip on her hand, sending out his sight and running even faster. If she changed here and was seen... They were so close! Only a few more meters. He glanced back over his shoulder, then plunged the last few feet into the woods, shoving her behind a copse of bushes and crouching down. Was it his imagination or had he heard footsteps behind them? _Calm down, Merlin_ , he commanded himself.

"M-er-lin."

Merlin twirled around to see Freya on all fours, shaking in thin moonlight breaking the horizon. He reached out for her, but she whipped her head up.

"N-o. St-ay b-ack."

Merlin pressed back into the bushes. Freya shuddered and moaned. Like he'd witnessed in the prison, fur sprouted along her arms, her body morphing, head swaying side to side. His heart stuttered as she grew bigger and the panther appeared, yowling. Its yellow eyes honed in on him. The wounds underneath his shirt stung, whether real or imagined, as he faced the bastet once again.

He hadn't noticed the wings the first time, too consumed with halting her transformation, but they stretched outwards, flapping off her back. He marveled. She padded towards him, and he stayed as still as possible to appear non-threatening. She stopped in front of him, then nuzzled his shirt with her nose and whined.

"Freya," Merlin whispered.

 _Come to me._ The bastet reacted as soon as Kilgharrah's voice sounded in his ears, craning her head behind her as if she'd heard it, too. She turned, walked a few paces, then looked back at him. He caught up, striding parallel to her powerful shoulders.

* * *

Arthur pounded down a lane, hounding the figures as they ducked down _another_ alley. He'd counted three of them, cloaked and clearly up to no good. Sorcerers? But then why didn't they just blast him with their magic? Perhaps he'd stumbled upon thieves plying their wicked ways.

He pivoted into the most recent escape route, his torch illumining the passageway between two shops. Two of the figures continued running, but a third stopped and turned, holding out a hand. The others slowed, as if they just realized their other companion was no longer with them. They twirled around, and a familiar voice he couldn't immediately identify shouted, "Mordred! No!"

The third figure's hand crackled with electric energy. Arthur automatically drew his sword as muscle memory took over. He hadn't been trained to fight sorcerers, but his skills kicked in even so, and when the ball of energy lashed out, he dropped the torch and rolled underneath the current towards the enemy as he'd practiced avoiding a weapon's strike a million times. His sword thrust upwards, sinking into flesh. The form crumpled.

Running steps echoed, the two other figures rushing back, and he yanked his sword from the body at his feet, brandishing it in warning, though as rational sense returned to him, he realized how foolish it was to threaten a gang of sorcerers with a sword.

"No, no," a woman's voice cried. She ignored his warning, slipping to the ground next to the form.

The other flashed his own sword and murmured a single word, "Arthur," at the same time he pulled back his hood.

Arthur blanched, the breath knocked out of him, leaving him unable to reply. Lancelot's eyes pierced him even in the dimly lit passageway, angry and sorrowful.

"How could you?" the feminine voice accused, and now he knew it―Morgana. "You've killed him!"

Lancelot sheathed his sword and knelt next to the form, pressing a hand into its neck. "He's not dead...yet." Arthur watched blankly as Lancelot hefted the form, then leaned back into the wall facing him. "What's it to be, Arthur? Do you arrest us or let us save him?"

Arthur's eyes traveled to the figure in Lancelot's arms, a boy about Merlin's age he saw as his hood had fallen back. "Who is he?" he stammered.

"Does it matter?" Morgana almost shrieked.

Her reply shook an answer out of him. "To...Gaius, then," he managed.

* * *

The towering form of Kilgharrah waited in a clearing and the bastet hovered next to Merlin. He reached instinctively to calm her fear, fingers twining in her silky fur. She purred under his hand and he whispered, "Wait." He approached Kilgharrah alone.

"Kilgharrah," Merlin greeted.

"Young warlock," the dragon's deep voice returned with a nod of its head.

"This is wrong."

"This is far more right than you understand," Kilgharrah objected.

"She's scared. She thinks you'll keep her forever."

Kilgharrah chortled.

"This isn't funny."

"Oh, it is very, young warlock. Here am I, bound to the dragonlords until my death, and you fear for a creature bound to me?"

Merlin stared. Okay, he could see how it was a little hypocritical.

"Merlin."

Merlin's eyes widened when someone rounded Kilgharrah's side. "Father!"

Balinor smiled. Merlin ran to him, embracing the man he hadn't seen in almost half a year. "I didn't think you'd be here."

Balinor chuckled as he let him go. "The old codger thought it better not to tell you my part in this."

Kilgharrah rumbled deep in his chest.

"Your part?" Merlin asked.

"Once, long ago, the dragonlords were as close to the bastets as the dragons, but I have never seen one until now." His father's gaze drifted to Freya, frozen still at the edge of the clearing. "She's safe. You can bring her here without fear."

Merlin bit his lip.

"I promise, Merlin," Balinor insisted. "This is best for her."

Merlin sighed, shuffling back to Freya. He stood in front of her, she lowering her head so their eyes could meet. "It's okay." She bumped her forehead into his, and he closed his eyes, feeling her hot breath waft over his face. They broke contact and moved toward Kilgharrah together.

Balinor knelt on one knee when she reached the dragon. "My lady." He bowed his head.

Merlin's brow knit. _My lady?_

Kilgharrah lifted a paw. Freya hissed lowly, but Merlin touched her side again, and her body relaxed. The dragon extended a claw, connecting with the bastet's forehead. Merlin awed as a glow seeped through the claw into the bastet. The panther quaked, its form receding, a girl much smaller and pale emerging. Freya buckled to her knees. Merlin immediately knelt to her side.

"I'm...all...right." She peered up at Kilgharrah's visage. "How?"

Kilgharrah's mouth widened in a toothy dragon smile. He sank to the ground, lying on his front as if settling in for a long story. Balinor joined Merlin, sitting next to him on his knees. The dragon's breath drifted over them all as he spoke.

"The dragons came into existence at the beginning of time, born of the elements, earth and wind and water and fire. Eons passed, and we discovered others besides ourselves. Exactly how we met the bastets, I do not know, but meet them we did. At first, there was battle between us, then war." Kilgharrah's eyes fixed on Freya. "I think it might have been pride that led to such a thing, each assuming itself more worthy of honor. After all, the bastets came from a royal line of an ancient race."

Freya gaped. "I'm...royal?"

"After a fashion," Kilgharrah continued. "That time is long past, but the origin of the bastets is of kings and queens."

"Were they cursed?" Merlin inquired.

"How they came to be bastets has been lost to time," Kilgharrah replied. "Cursed or not, their nature was forever altered."

"But, why do we serve?" Freya asked, unable to stymie a fearful tremble.

Kilgharrah grinned again. "Simply, we won and you did not. The bastets bound themselves to us as recompense."

Merlin scowled. "So she _is_ to be a slave."

"No," Kilgharrah growled. "A companion. Do not think us like humans." The dragon's tone was scathing, making Merlin wonder at the first dragonlords. Had they taken the dragons by force?

Kilgharrah leaned his head down to gaze into Freya's eyes. "You cannot control it yet, but I can show you how. To do so, you must submit to me."

Freya glanced at Merlin who looked back helplessly, unable to give her any clear advice. She stared up at the dragon. "You'll never hurt me?"

Kilgharrah swayed his massive head back and forth. "I would destroy any who dared touch you. You are the last of your kind, as am I. You must be preserved at any cost."

Freya considered the twisting hands in her lap. "No one's ever said anything like that to me. They've been afraid."

Kilgharrah nudged the crown of her head gently. "I promise, lady, to honor you always."

Freya gulped and looked up again. "My parents used to tell me of the nobility of dragons. I think it must be true." She looked over to Merlin and held out a hand. He laced their fingers, another lump in his throat as she spoke. "I'm ready, then." He was going to lose her and tears welled in his eyes, even though he felt this was the right thing.

"You will see the young warlock again," Kilgharrah assured softly. "Merlin...you must step back."

Merlin rose, reluctantly releasing Freya's hand. His father went with him and they stood to the side, Balinor's hand on his shoulder. Kilgharrah pushed up to his giant height once more, staring into the moon. He called out an impressive string of archaic words Merlin couldn't understand, then bent down, the claw to Freya's head once more. Another glow, this one an ethereal lavender, ringing Freya's entire body. When it dissipated, Freya gasped. Merlin made to move towards her, but his father's hand gripped tightly.

Freya's mouth opened and a long breath escaped. "I...feel...you."

Kilgharrah sat back on his haunches. "Good."

Freya moved towards him, running a hand over his scales. "It's...it's..." She shook her head, unable to come up with the words. Kilgharrah moved a paw, pulling her into his chest. She sat.

"Now, young warlock," Kilgaharrah spoke. Merlin approached once more. "You must return to Camelot. This is but one fate you have resolved."

"You said...twin fates," Merlin recalled.

"The bastet is one, the Druid is the other."

"Druid? You mean Mordred?"

The dragon nodded. Freya started. "Mordred? What about him?"

"Peace," Kilgahrrah muttered to her. "This one's fate is not your burden." His yellow eyes pierced Merlin. "The Druid's life hangs in the balance. He has a part to play in the future of the Golden Prince."

"What part?" Merlin asked.

"That is yet to be seen." Kilgharrah stretched his neck and his voice breathed into Merlin's ear so only he could hear. "But almost every turn is dark. He walks the perilous edge of a knife. Do not grieve if he perishes."

He pulled back and Merlin's rounded eyes followed the dragon's ascending ones. Mordred was a threat to Arthur?

"You must return to Camelot as fast as able, young warlock."

"But..." His gaze passed to Freya and then his father.

Balinor hugged him once more quickly. "Kilgharrah is wise. Do as he says."

"I thought I might see you longer," Merlin sighed.

"Kilgharrah keeps me informed. I am proud of you, Merlin. You do so much with so little reward and accept so much risk." Merlin read the restraint in his father's eyes, perhaps an unspoken desire to spare him his destiny.

"I have to. For Arthur's sake," Merlin answered. His resolve had returned to him. He wondered if now Freya's binding to Kilgharrah had lessened her hold on him. Freya had stood and approached.

"Thank you. For everything. And I'm sorry."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Don't apologize again. Please."

She smiled and threw her arms around his neck. He slid his own around her waist, his heart sinking. He hardly wanted to let her go, but he had to. He pulled back.

"Hurry," Kilgharrah urged.

Merlin turned and fled back into the forest.

* * *

Arthur existed in a state of foggy unreality as he hurried behind Lancelot and Morgana, speaking only to mutter at the guards on the front gate that someone had been hurt and to let them through. To his relief, neither seemed to recognize the exiled Lancelot. He idly thought it must be the beard.

Soon after he found himself in Gaius' chamber, staring at a youth, chest bared, laid out on Gaius' worktable. The location of his sword jab was obvious, the boy's side bleeding freely. He'd remained at the door, barely working through his thoughts, the chase and the magic and the revelation of who he'd hunted down. Morgana was fretting, Lancelot holding her shaking shoulders, when it occurred to him.

"He's the boy from the courtyard who broke the windows." His realization came out quietly, without accusation, but Morgana turned on him anyway.

"Brilliant, Arthur!" she cried out, green eyes searing him.

"How long have you had him?" His voice grew louder, anger flaring up in response to hers.

"Ever since," she spat out.

Arthur's hands steeped on his hips. "He's a criminal."

"He's a boy!" she shot back. "Look at him!"

Arthur did. He was probably younger than Merlin, and just as skinny and pale. "You put yourself in danger."

Morgana scoffed. "My life would be nothing if I'd watched Uther arrest and torture him."

"He wouldn't do that," Arthur defended weakly, the stench of the pit the girl had been tormented in coming back to him.

"Gods, Arthur," she shouted. "He flogged you!"

 _How can you not know? How can you not care?_ Arthur wanted to cover his ears, but kept his hands firmly planted on his hips. His gaze traveled to Lancelot, an unspoken conversation passing between them. _I told you_ , his friend seemed to say, _magic is not evil. He's only a boy trying to save one like him._

"It's illegal," Arthur recovered himself as Gaius glanced up and their eyes locked for a brief second.

Morgana gaped at him like she'd never seen him before. "What if I had magic?" Lancelot's hands stiffened on her shoulders. "What if he was me?"

Arthur didn't want to hear this, this blasted hypothetical that had also been thrown at him by Merlin, only Merlin's had an image to go with it, a dream over a year old of himself lighting his servant's pyre, watching him burn and scream. He'd thought out there, in the streets, to give his father a chance, and now...could he? Anger boiled deeper. He didn't want this conflict anymore. He was too tired!

"You know the law," he ground out.

"So you'd watch me on a pyre?" Morgana spoke, incredulous.

"Of course, I wouldn't!" he yelled back. "Because you would never be there!"

Morgana opened her mouth, but Lancelot filled the short second. "This isn't helping. Let Gaius do what he can in peace." She snapped it closed, turning away.

Arthur looked at the boy, surprised himself how deep his cut had gone. The boy grew paler by the moment. _Would you kill a child?_ He heard the question in the sound of Merlin's voice, and whatever reply he might have given was overshadowed by the answer right in front of him: _I would._


	64. Moral Motions

Merlin climbed the spiral steps, heart heavy. No matter how safe he knew Freya was with Kilgharrah and his father, his soul felt emptier without her. To make matters worse, he'd called out to Mordred all the way back, but received no response. He'd decided maybe Gaius could help him track the Druid down, but he slowed as he reached the door and heard voices shouting at one another.

He listened for a moment, identifying Morgana and Arthur. Confused, he opened the door hesitantly to scope out the interior. Morgana sat at a table with Lancelot's arms around her. Arthur stood next to the door and his gaze jerked to Merlin immediately with such a strong combination of pain, distress, and wrath that the hair on Merlin's neck rose on end.

"What happened?" he asked, but then spied Gaius across the way tending to a bleeding wound in...Mordred's side? He ran up to the worktable, eyes imploring Garius for an explanation. The physician only glanced at him and kept working.

"Arthur," Morgana accused.

"Don't blame me for this. You shouldn't have helped him," Arthur ground out, avoiding Merlin's gaze and concentrating on the ward.

"Do you know what Uther will do if he even survives?" She stood, indicting him with a pointed finger. "He'll kill him. Is that who you are? A man who leads children to their deaths?"

"Morgana," Lancelot warned gently.

Arthur glared, and passed into the hall through the door Merlin had left open, slamming it as he went. Tears began to well in Morgana's eyes. "He's turning him in."

Merlin gulped. "Arthur...did this?"

Lancelot replied. "We were trying to get him out of the citadel. Morgana's been hiding him. He's the boy who used magic in the courtyard...In Arthur's defense, Mordred was preparing an attack."

"That doesn't matter," Morgana insisted, voice breaking.

Merlin stared at Mordred. Arthur hadn't been able to tell him he _would_ kill children, but now that he had a Druid boy in custody, he very well might. Betrayal crossed his heart.

"Will he live?" Merlin whispered.

Gaius answered shortly. "I don't know."

Mordred looked so innocent, eyes shut and bleeding out, so unlike the angry boy who'd blamed him for not being the Emrys he'd expected. Merlin clenched his jaw, recalling Mordred's assertion if he were Emrys, their people would be free. He didn't care what Kilgharrah thought, that Mordred might be better off dead. He couldn't abandon one of his own, not only for Morded's sake, but Freya's.

He turned on his heel and dashed back out the door.

* * *

Arthur's feet had carried in him to the top landing of the spiral staircase, but then stalled, abruptly turned, and paced back, past the physician's door to the end of the short hall. He leaned against the dead-end and slid down it, Merlin's face tormenting him...

 _You said you wouldn't kill a child with magic._

 _I never said that._

 _You didn't say you_ would.

Arthur cradled his head in his hands. He hadn't said it because he hadn't been sure, and now a boy was dying on Gaius' worktable, and Merlin's expression had pinned him with a look of betrayal such as he had never seen.

Gaius' door flung open. Arthur held his breath, afraid Morgana had come out to chase him down, but a raven headed boy rushed towards the staircase. He staggered to a stop, turning slowly. Arthur's stomach dropped when their eyes connected, but his gaze didn't waver as Merlin strode towards him. He struck out before Merlin could.

"He's a Druid. In Camelot. His actions were against the law and it's my duty to turn him in."

"Why?" the boy's tone challenged.

"Magic, Merlin!" Arthur spat, flinging out a hand.

"So you'll watch him burn." It was a statement and it was bitter.

Merlin slipped to his knees in front of him and Arthur growled. "It's so easy for you and Morgana, isn't it? To pretend you have the higher ground. _I'm_ the one who's going to be king. _I'm_ the one who has to fulfill the law."

"So you're going to be like Uther? You're going to make your people fear you, attack you, blow up your courtyard to save their friends?" Merlin's brow had screwed up in anger.

"My father has ruled as best he can."

Merlin laughed snidely and rage exploded within Arthur. He raised his hand suddenly and Merlin flinched backwards, tumbling onto his rear. They stared at each other for a long moment until Merlin spoke lowly. "You said you'd never hit me again."

Arthur's hand shook as he lowered it. "I haven't." But he had come very close just then. Arthur looked away when tears brimmed in Merlin's eyes. Gods, why did Merlin have to do this? Eat at his soul this way?

"You have six, you know."

Arthur rolled his eyes back to question Merlin's innocent blue.

"Six scars on your back."

Unwillingly, Arthur traced all six of them in his mind's eye, long and ropy, the lashes that had dug the deepest and remained even after all the other stripes had healed. "I know better than you."

"It wasn't just. It was wrong."

"He had to do it. I subverted him."

"Then why have you been fighting him all this time?"

"I haven't been fighting him," Arthur protested.

"You have! You've stopped him doing things that would hurt people. You've stopped him hurting _me_."

He bowed his head. "Maybe I was...wrong."

"What?" Arthur didn't look up, fearing more betrayal in Merlin's expression.

"I'm to be king. I have to learn to make hard decisions." Arthur leaned his head into the wall cursing himself when tears of frustration leaked unbidden onto his lowered eyelashes. He brushed them away with the back of his hand.

Merlin was suddenly on his feet again, spitting out a diatribe. "You will be king, but you don't have to do it his way. You don't have to torture people in dungeons and kill children and...flog your son." Merlin's voice trembled. "The Druids...when you found me. They were kind to me. Innocent. They hadn't done anything. Your father sent his knights to _kill_ them... When you wanted to arrest them... When you brought me here... You... I thought you were different."

Arthur could hardly bear the disappointment in Merlin's voice. It pierced deeper than his father's disapproval ever had. The youth made to retreat, but Arthur uttered two questions that begged for understanding. "Do you think I _want_ a child to die? Do you think so lowly of me?"

Merlin looked down at him, unshed tears rising once more. "I didn't think so...once. You know, Arthur, if you want to be like Uther, just order me whipped like he did you and get it over with." Merlin's eyes shot through him like bolts of lightning before he fled back into Gaius' chambers.

Arthur stared after him, reminded once more of the punishment that loomed over Merlin's head. Dear gods. Could Merlin really think he'd flog him? But why not? Hadn't the boy seen him draw his sword on his own mother, almost kill her? Hadn't he stood next to his father on the balcony while a barely conscious girl who'd been beaten and raped went to her death? And a boy was lying on Gaius' worktable, dying all because of him, and if he survived, would be burned on a pyre in place of the girl.

For the first time, Arthur closed his eyes and let himself remember every twisted and broken body that had been etched in his memory, every child he'd passed in the Druid camp. If Merlin hadn't jumped in to save him, if he hadn't commanded the soldier to free him, Merlin would have been one of those bodies.

Arthur shivered against the wall, utterly torn between his sworn duty and the moral motions of his inner being.

* * *

Lancelot spoke first when Merlin entered Gaius' chamber once more. "What has he done?" the former knight asked.

"He's out there," Merlin mumbled, jamming a thumb at the door.

Morgana leaped up from the bench, but Gaius intervened. "Leave him, Morgana."

The ward whipped her head to the physician. "His life is at stake." Her eyes were on Mordred.

Gaius nodded gravely, speaking as he worked. "Not a one of you realize what you are asking of our prince."

Morgana began to protest, Merlin to mutter, but Gaius shushed them with a severe look. "You ask him to deny his father and his king."

"He should," Morgana snapped.

"Should he?"

"Gaius," Merlin reprimanded incredulously.

"Hasn't Uther kept us safe from the dark side of magic? Haven't you all been witness to its power?"

"But that's not all it is, Gaius," Lancelot's steady voice entered the conversation.

"No, that isn't _all_ it is, but it is much of what it is. The poison of Nimueh, Aredian the witchfinder, King Alined and his daughter's manipulation, the troll and the goblin. Would you tell Uther to stop fighting such things?"

Merlin sank to the table, staring at the still seeping wound in Mordred's side.

"I have seen magic do much good," Lancelot said. Morgana's gaze had flitted to Merlin, and he thought she might be gauging his reaction to Lancelot's assertion.

"You can't just assume it's all bad," he proclaimed to make his position clear.

"But you also cannot claim it blameless. What does Arthur know but the horror stories of the Purge and his own experience. To ask him to see its goodness changes all he's ever believed." Gaius dabbed at Mordred's side.

"Gaius," came Morgana's strained voice. "Do you really think this boy should die?"

Gaius swallowed and didn't meet her eyes when he answered. "I would not want to bear his blood on my hands."

Merlin kept his focus on Mordred. Gaius was too right for his comfort. Arthur had so many reasons to distrust magic. For a moment, he considered running back into the corridor and confessing his own magic, but he'd already heard Arthur declare he should turn Mordred in. Adding his own deceit to the mix wouldn't help matters.

Considering Kilgharrah's words, Merlin wondered if it wouldn't be best for the boy to pass here. Escape a world where a king would burn you alive just for being who you were.

* * *

Arthur stared into nothing, questions, challenges, and his own fears drowning his mind as a raging waterfall. He was a man of action, not bent towards scholarly thinking, but fighting and strategy and tactics, and his training rose to the call. _Break it down._ Right. Think. Face each issue one by one.

His father was king. He had sworn himself to him at his coming of age when he'd been declared the inheritor of the kingdom. He had vowed to uphold the king's laws and decrees. He owed his father his allegiance.

But he'd also pledged to protect Camelot, its people and its lands, with his very life if necessary. The unfair tax had been a time he had done just that, and his defense had gotten him chained and shredded.

Criminals in the dungeon―they deserved it? Weren't they his people also? Under his protection until the law demanded otherwise?

Merlin had been right. He had fought against his father, at least, done what he could to right those things his father couldn't see violated his people.

 _I thought you were different,_ Merlin had accused. For so long, Arthur had assumed any difference from his father a bad thing. He'd spent almost every waking moment trying to prove himself an equal to the king Uther was.

 _You will be king, but you don't have to do it his way._ Arthur pictured himself on a throne wearing a crown, the boy in Gaius' room kneeling before him as the girl had when she'd been brought by the bounty hunter. He'd observed the Druid symbol on the boy's neck. He imagined someone pointing at the tattoo and saying, "He must die." What judgment from him? What had the boy done against his kingdom? Attempted to rescue a cursed friend from suffering searing pain.

Morgana and Merlin had both at separate times challenged him to consider if they were the ones, what would he do. What _would_ he do? Without hesitation, he knew he could never kill them. Then why would even consider killing the boy?

Magic―it corrupted and destroyed, but could one be redeemed from it? Merlin's mother appeared to have been. So did Gaius, both renouncing its claim on them.

Perhaps that was where his father had gone wrong. Maybe instead of immediate condemnation he should have given sorcerers a chance at forgiveness. Was mercy weakness? Arthur reached underneath his shirt to finger the end of a scar on his lower back. His father hadn't extended him the courtesy of discussing his action before demanding such a harsh retribution. Perhaps he had deserved something, but there had been no attempt to be fair or understanding.

Arthur steadied himself against the wall as he stood.

* * *

The door to Gaius' chamber creaked open. All eyes honed in on it. Morgana placed herself protectively in front of the table where Mordred lay. Merlin rose, heart pounding, worrying he might have to use magic if Arthur had chosen to let Mordred die. Lancelot was already on his feet and simply pivoted. Gaius continued on with his patient as if nothing were amiss.

Arthur entered and stared at them owlishly when he caught all eyes on him. He shut the door, leaned back against it, and cleared his throat. "He's only a boy who hasn't chosen his circumstances."

Merlin stared back, heart pattering. Was Arthur saying...

"If I allow him to die now, he has no chance to change. Like you did, Gaius." The physician only nodded once to himself. "He deserves at least a fair chance."

Merlin's heart sank. Arthur still thought magic a corruption, something that could be rooted out and denied. But what if you _were_ magic with no ability to scour it out of you if you tried? He bit back bitter tears.

Morgana didn't move, but the edge in her eyes lessened.

"What do you plan to do, then?" Lancelot inquired.

Arthur glanced at him, but spoke to Gaius. "Can he be healed?"

"I have done what I can," Gaius replied. "But he will need time and care."

Arthur kept his gaze on Lancelot. "You need to get out of here and so does he...I wonder if you know where he might receive this time and care."

Lancelot bowed his head in affirmation.

Arthur squared his shoulders, approaching the table. He stopped in front of Morgana. "It's the best I can offer."

Morgana unclenched her tightened jaw. "Magic isn't evil, Arthur. It isn't."

Arthur clenched his own. "I won't argue with you, but I promise he will not come to harm by my hand. Let me take him." Morgana slowly stepped aside. Arthur looked at the boy, so very pale. "Can I move him?"

Gaius nodded, satisfied with the boy's bandaging.

Arthur lifted the boy. As he made for the door, Merlin trailed him. Arthur craned his head over his shoulder. "You stay here, Merlin.

"But you said I could go with you wherever I wanted."

Arthur sighed loudly. "Later. _Not_ this time."

"I'm going," Morgana assured Merlin, but Arthur exploded.

"Neither of you are coming!"

Morgana fumed. "I said I'd take care of him."

Arthur ground his jaw. "You were almost caught tonight. If it hadn't been me...If father knew..." He swallowed hard and spoke softly. "I thought I was untouchable once, too." Morgana's expression caved, and he recognized her giving in. His eyes moved from Morgana to Merlin and at Merlin's disgruntled expression, he tried to lighten the mood with a dark joke. "I've already been flogged once, what's a second time?"

Merlin looked anxious then, and Arthur knew he hadn't lost the boy's loyalty, even through their spat.

"Just see Morgana to her chamber."

Lancelot opened the door, Arthur passed through. Before he exited, Lancelot's eyes found Merlin's and he nodded meaningfully toward Morgana.

* * *

As Gaius retreated to cleanse his hands from his ministrations of Mordred, Morgana made for the hall, Merlin behind her.

"I should be with him," she murmured.

"Arthur will keep his word," Merlin reassured. He'd started to feel guilty, reviewing his tirade to his prince. What if Arthur did get caught? What if he ended up punished all over again because he had yelled him into it?

They reached the bottom of the spiral stairs and Morgana scanned up and down the hall, but Arthur and Lancelot were nowhere to be seen. She turned reluctantly towards her chamber, Merlin at her side.

Morgana sighed long. Her farewell with Mordred wasn't supposed to be like this. She had more she wanted to say, to speak freely and openly away from the Citadel and the source of her fears.

"Why did you save him?" Merlin asked quietly.

"He was fleeing the courtyard and the guards were coming after him. He was only trying to protect his friend. It was like your mother."

"I think you did the right thing," Merlin stated.

Morgana smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "My Merlin. Always so kind. Camelot isn't worthy of people like you."

They strolled in silence for a time, passing a guard once who raised his eyebrows, but otherwise didn't react to their presence. When they reached the hall to her room, Merlin pulled out of her embrace. She turned to face him and he stared intently into her eyes.

"I helped Mordred's friend escape."

Morgana balked. "You...what?"

"When Mordred did whatever he did, and Freya was trying to escape, I helped her."

Morgana stared at him for a long moment, then embraced him. "Foolish boy," she murmured. "Uther would have your head if he'd known!"

"You risked yours," Merlin protested. She pushed him back.

"You have no protection, Merlin." She shook him gently.

His mouth opened and shut a couple times, and she feared she'd hurt his feelings. Then he worried his lip and finally started to say something when her door opened and a voice called out in relief.

"Morgana!"

Morgana turned, pulling Merlin along by a hand into her room, shutting the door behind him. Gwen glanced at Merlin, then to Morgana quizzically. "He knows," she informed the maid.

"Is Mordred safe?" Gwen inquired.

Morgana moved to a chair and sagged in it. "He was wounded. Arthur caught us."

Gwen's eyes widened. "He hurt Mordred?"

Morgana nodded.

"But he's getting him out of here with Lancelot," Merlin explained quickly, reading the distress in Gwen's gaze.

"He's what?"

Morgana sighed. "Sit down, Gwen. Let me start from the beginning."

* * *

Lancelot glanced sideways at Arthur carrying the boy. He strained a bit under the weight, but continued on, face pinched in a determined scowl. They had passed through the towns, meeting no patrol. He guessed Arthur knew the exact routes and kept them out of the way.

When they entered the woods, Lancelot halted. "Let me take him the rest of the way. You return." Arthur had seen sense enough to let Mordred go, but Lancelot wasn't sure how the prince might react in the presence of Aglain and he didn't intend to chance anything.

Arthur regarded him uncertainly for a moment, then carefully handed Mordred over to his waiting arms.

"You know, Arthur. He was just one scared boy being chased and trying to save himself and his friends. He only did what you might have done with your sword if you were he."

Arthur was suddenly looking anywhere but at him.

"I'm still loyal to you. I will never hurt you, I swear on my life."

Arthur's head swiveled back, eyes softer.

"But if you decide to kill innocents, I will not hesitate to defend them."

A wave of hurt passed through Arthur's gaze. "Lancelot..." Words seemed to fail him.

Lancelot's tone grew firm. "There are people out there with great gifts who put them to good use, people who love Camelot as much as you and refuse to leave it even though staying could mean death. And some of them use their gifts for _you_ in spite of the danger to them, but you don't know it because they don't dare trust you. You've only seen the evil of magic because the people who use it so are the only ones willing to brazenly reveal it."

Arthur's jaw tightened. "I've had enough lectures. I don't need one from you."

Lancelot sighed. "I'll miss you."

Arthur looked alarmed. "You won't return?"

"I'll be near. I've still sworn an oath to you."

"Morgana?"

"Tell her my heart is ever hers." Lancelot hefted the boy once more and moved alone onto a woody path. He called out as he left. "You aren't destined to be Uther, Arthur. So stop trying."

He half thought Arthur might come angrily after him then, but when he glanced back over his shoulder, his friend was gone.

* * *

Morgana occupied the recess of her window after she dismissed Gwen and Merlin, waiting, watching. Arthur entered the courtyard alone. Where was Lancelot? Arthur didn't rush or appear ruffled, wandering leisurely up the steps to the main entrance of the citadel. Lancelot must have remained behind, submitting to his exile once more.

Morgana turned away, moving to her bed, perching on its end. It was over. Mordred had escaped. Aglain would return him to their camp to be looked after by his people. People like her. Like her mother.

The thought stuck in her brain, and the knot pulsed then, a tug of power knocking on a door. She was born with a gift. She could deny it and fight it the rest of her life, or she could accept who she was and take up the cause of people like her. No one else should suffer as Mordred had.

 _You are Uther's doom._ Morgana breathed deeply in and out several times. Last year, she had dreamed of Arthur dying at a tournament, killed by King Alined. It hadn't come to pass which meant her dreams didn't bind circumstance. Someone had to hold Uther to account and rescue the oppressed when he refused to see sense, but he didn't have to die. Such an outcome wasn't inevitable.

Morgana's quivering hand pressed into her abdomen. She lifted her chin. She was strong and could control it. She closed her eyes. Sensing the invisible threads of the knot, she gradually unraveled it from beginning to end. At the last twist, she gasped, warmth flooding her, body and soul. She opened her eyes and viewed the room through a golden haze. She stumbled to a mirror just in time to catch the same color fading from her eyes as she'd seen in Mordred's.

Morgana leaned into the cold stone of the wall next to the mirror. She could feel _everything_ , the flowers blooming in a vase across the room, the servant passing in the hall, even the tiny spider spinning a web under her bed. She sank to the floor, but she was grinning. Never had she felt more whole.

* * *

The sun rose. Arthur did, too, but he dressed and ate in silence without a word to the servant attending him. He feared meeting his father, so scouted a roundabout way to Morgana's chamber where he knocked tentatively.

"Come in."

He pushed open the door. Morgana, already dressed, but in her riding outfit, smiled at him. "Arthur."

He hadn't expected such a greeting, not after last night, and spoke carefully. "I wanted you to know I saw the boy safely away. And Lancelot said to tell you his heart is ever yours."

Morgana's smile broadened. "And I his." She tugged on a last boot and stood. "I'm going riding."

"I see." Arthur ran a nervous finger over his lips. "Morgana, I didn't intend to hurt the boy."

Morgana looked down at the belt she buckled around her waist. "I know."

"So...you're just forgiving me?"

Morgana laughed. "For hurting Mordred, yes. But..." Now she looked up, her eyes lighting him with a chastising fire. _This_ was what he'd expected. "It's time you choose sides, Arthur Pendragon." Her hands went to her hips. "If you dare attempt to hurt an innocent again, whether they have magic or not, you will have me as an enemy."

Arthur wasn't quite sure how to answer such a declaration. Long ago they'd mutually decided to stop arguing over magic and its treatment in the kingdom. She had always been soft on it. "I don't want to be your enemy," he swore sincerely, unable to answer her exactly as she required.

"Then stay out of my way." They held each other's gazes for a moment, blue linked to green, and Arthur nodded his head in farewell, withdrawing and closing the door.

He blinked when he turned and beheld Gwen coming down the hall, a stack of fresh linens in her hands. He smiled, hoping for some relief, a display of love in her eyes, but she dropped her gaze and didn't look up as she reached the door.

"Excuse me, my lord."

"Gwen," he murmured, touching her shoulder. "It's only us. You don't have to be so formal."

She looked up then and he startled at the tears in her eyes. "We...can't be like this...ever."  
Arthur frowned and moved his hand to her chin. "Someday we'll be free to let ourselves love."

Gwen shook her head and grimaced as if his touch pained her. "I could never marry you. I could never stand next to you and watch innocent people die. I'm sorry." She pushed open the door and slid past inside.

Arthur didn't move, feeling as if he'd been socked in the gut and cut to the heart at the same time. The thrust of her words pounded into his brain, and he retreated down the hall like a dog with his tail between his legs.

* * *

Morgana looked up when Gwen entered. "Ah! Gwen. Good. I'm going out...What's happened?"

Gwen stood at the door, tears rolling down her cheeks. Morgana rushed to her, transferred the linens from her grasp to the table, grabbed one her hands, and directed her to a chair where she sat and rubbed at her eyes.

"What is it?" Morgana crouched in front of her, pushing back threads of the girl's hair that framed her face and running a hand in circles against her back.

"I told Arthur I couldn't ever love him," she choked out.

Morgana's gaze clouded. "Why?"

Gwen stared into her mistresses eyes. "The girl on the pyre and Mordred...Arthur will be king...He'll have to make those decisions...And...I know he let Mordred go...but only to give him a chance and...some day as king...he'll have to follow the law...I can't watch people die like that when they've done nothing."

Morgana's heart leaped and she moved both hands to Gwen's cheeks, wiping at them, then cupping them gently. "You don't hate magic, do you?"

Gwen shook her head. "What you've said and Lancelot and meeting Mordred...the king is wrong. He has to be. I mean, yes, I think some use it for evil, but it isn't all evil. It can't be. Lancelot wouldn't spend all that time with Druids if it were."

"Gwen, I can trust you?"

Gwen drew in a hitching breath. "Always, my lady."

"You told me once if I had magic, you'd serve me anyway. I do have it, Gwen."

Gwen smiled softly. "But you haven't dreamed in months."

"That was only part of it. Mordred's given me the strength to accept more. Don't be frightened." Morgana concentrated on her hand. An orb of pale blue light formed in her hand. Gwen froze. Morgana let the light seep back into her hand, and gazed into Gwen's eyes.

"You do have it," the girl finally breathed out.

"My mother was a seer," Morgana explained. "I didn't know until recently. I can't rid myself of it. I was born with it, and I fought it for so long, but I can't anymore."

Gwen stared at her. "Uther..."

"I'm not afraid of him. Well, not much. Do I still have your loyalty?"

Gwen reached out then and clasped Morgana's hands. "I could never betray you."

Morgana smiled. "Good. Then speak not a word of this to anyone."

"I promise."

* * *

Merlin bit his lip as Gaius ran his hands over his injuries, prodding here and there, assessing. "They're healing quite well, even after all your exertion. I expect at the end of next week you may shoulder some light work for Arthur."

Merln forced a smile. "And for you."

Gaius returned it. "Gathering herbs isn't _too_ strenuous."

When Merlin's face fell, the physician lay an encouraging hand on his knee. "He hasn't come, Gaius, these last three days."

"Give him time."

"How much does he need?"

Gaius shrugged. "He might be upset with his choice in hindsight." He finished tying off a new bandage. "Anyway, you've gotten rest which is what you need. I'll be in with lunch soon."

Merlin lay back in his bed. Nero nestled next to his neck and Merlin absently ran a finger over his back. Three days and he couldn't keep Freya off his mind. The dragon had spoken to him once more informing him she'd arrived safely at the Dragon Sanctuary, but that didn't stem the pain in his heart nor cease the flip of his stomach when he thought of her.

At the same time, her absence had turned him back to destiny and Arthur. He felt ashamed he'd even considered leaving; Arthur clearly needed him more than Freya. The last time they had talked in the hall, he'd been so angry, and he couldn't exactly regret his words entirely as they might have contributed to saving Mordred's life, but he was certain he'd hurt Arthur as well. Goodness, he'd pretty much challenged Arthur to whip him, implied he was just like Uther.

 _But he's not_ , Merlin told himself. He really never had been. He wanted the chance to make things right between them, but he wasn't sure how. Arthur was an ambiguous amalgam of a prince and master and friend and brother. What Merlin truly wanted to say was something he couldn't: _We have this destiny and I almost left you on your own and if you'd become Uther because of it, it would have been my fault._

A light rap sounded on the door. "You don't have to knock, Gaius."

"What about me?" The voice that filtered through was Arthur's.

"Eh, yeah, come in," Merlin breathed out, sitting up slowly. Arthur appeared gradually, head first, his expression unreadable, schooled in that self-controlled Arthur way. He strode to Merlin's desk first, pulling its chair over to the bed and sitting in it backwards, arms resting along its top. "Gaius says you're healing and soon can serve me again."

Merlin nodded. Nero had hopped up and settled into his lap. Arthur gestured a finger at the kestrel. "Has he left you these last days?"

"Not much."

Arthur contemplated his arms. "I should have come sooner. So much happened. I needed time."

"I...I'm glad you let Mordred go."

Arthur snorted and didn't look up.

"Do you know where Lancelot took him?"

"I didn't ask."

Merlin picked at the blanket covering his bed. "You sent him back to the Druids." Arthur kept his head bowed. "What if he never rejects magic?"

"You make me feel I did the wrong thing."

"You didn't."

Arthur finally raised his head. "If he never chooses the right path...then I hope we never meet again."

Merlin swallowed hard. Arthur may have sent Mordred away, but his action didn't make him in any way safe to reveal his secret. "What I said...in the hall..."

Arthur lifted a hand, interrupting. "You said what you thought. Gave me something to think on, and I did." He exhaled loudly. "But this time, I need you to hear _me_."

Merlin nodded solemnly.

"I'll be king, and you are right, I won't be my father, but he's the only one who knows what it's truly like. It won't be easy. Sometimes I'll have to do things I might not enjoy. It's my fate, Merlin."

Merlin ran a hand over Nero again. "Yeah."

"I need to make amends with my father and listen to him."

Merlin looked up and couldn't help a bit of betrayal leaking into his features.

"But I won't _be_ him and I will still _need_ you. You can see where he can't, where even I can't. I want to be a fair king, and it's too clear you're part of that."

A small smile drew up the corners of Merlin's lips.

Arthur stood. "I'm joining my father for dinner tonight. I'll be discussing you with him."

Merlin's face fell into trepidation. Yeah, his punishment for the dungeon incident.

"But you must know, Merlin, I would never, ever flog you."

Merlin nodded slowly. _But if you knew, you'd send me away, just like Mordred._ And he suddenly realized he'd rather suffer flogging than ever be separated from Arthur's side. "What _will_ you do?"

Arthur smiled for the first time. "I have an idea."

* * *

The end of the next week came too slowly _and_ too quickly. For the most part, things returned to normal, except for Gwen who avoided him if they ever came within yards of each other. Arthur forced himself to do the same, resisting the urge to trap her in a corner and change her mind. If she couldn't support him as king, it was best he never speak to her again, but his heart shattered all the same.

Arthur paced back and forth in the throne room. His father sat stiffly, waiting. Several meals later, and Arthur felt they had at least reestablished mutual communication, that his father accepted he was willing to learn from his experiences, even if he couldn't agree with every decision. It was a place to start anyway.

The doors swung open and two soldiers appeared, gripping Merlin by his upper arms. The boy was made to kneel when he reached the throne. Uther stared down at him as Arthur positioned himself at his side.

"My lord," Arthur began, heart pumping. This was a bit of a risk and could destroy what little peace they'd recaptured, but he felt it necessary to make his views clear when it came to his servant. "I want to apologize for the actions of my scribe. He was out of line to appear in the dungeon and interfere in council business." The councilors on the sides shared glances and a few muttered. "But before I pass sentence, I would like this court to understand _why_ he was there." Arthur lowered himself to Merlin's level, grasping the hem of his shirt and pulling it up to reveal his wounds, mostly scarred now, the stitches absorbed. More murmuring from the court, his father's eyes narrowed.

"Never have I employed a more loyal servant. The court already knows how many times he has chosen my life before his, and in the case of the incident a few months ago, sought even the king's safety over his own preservation. He meant to protect and not to cause trouble."

Uther put a hand to his chin, his gaze impassive.

Arthur stood again. "Still, good intention does not wipe out action. And yet, to be fair, the punishment must fit the crime."

Uther raised his hand. "What do you suggest?"

"As he violated his position, showing up in the dungeon when he had no right to, I would suggest he be confined _to_ the dungeon..."

Uther raised his eyebrows.

"In the service of its guards. Let him learn the necessity of justice firsthand by serving its purposes."

Uther let his head fall and rise solemnly. "This is acceptable."

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief as Merlin was hauled away.

* * *

"Merlin!"

"Here!"

Arthur stumbled along, deeper into the dungeons than he usually went, and on a trajectory he recalled with disgust. He found himself outside the pit. He peered into dank cell. "You're down there?"

A ladder's top shook, and Arthur steadied it as Merlin climbed out, face and clothing dirt stained. "Just cleaning it out."

Arthur scrunched up his nose as he aided Merlin off the ladder. "You stink."

"It's awful down there, but it doesn't have to be."

"You were ordered to do this?"

"I volunteered."

Arthur met his eyes, unspoken words passing between them about prisoners and the horrors they suffered in the stark darkness below. "I brought you lunch." He held up the plate.

"Thanks." Merlin glanced around, then whispered. "You aren't afraid someone will hear us?"

"You have something else to report?"

"Not really. They're behaving better ever since you've started reassigning them." He grinned.

Arthur had done what he could. Merlin had been his mole, identifying which guards were most prone to mistreating prisoners. He's obtained permission from his father to evaluate the schedules and placement of the guards, and it hadn't been too hard to transfer the most troublesome to other work.

Merlin swiped his hands in a water bucket he'd placed along the wall, then picked up an apple, and for a moment stared at the pit wistfully.

"You look like you want be confined there."

Merlin shuddered and turned. "No." He chewed thoughtfully. "You could block it up," he muttered around the apple.

Arthur shook his head. "In a Merlin world, maybe I could."

Merlin tilted his head. " _My_ world?"

"Where every criminal is innocent and the dungeons aren't needed."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I don't think every one is innocent."

"Then it's a hard truth this is needed." Arthur glanced at the pit. "Some hearts are evil, and it's a king's duty to protect his people from them."

Merlin swallowed. "I'd never want to be a king."

Arthur ruffled his hair. "That's why I was born one and not you." Arthur stared at the bowed head of his servant, trying to imagine him condemning someone to death―it was impossible. "I won't let anyone be tortured again without necessity."

Merlin raised his head. "I know, Arthur, cause you're getting better."

Arthur guffawed. "Better, huh? That's the most approval I'm afforded."

Merlin smiled. "You still have a lot of room for improvement."

Arthur sat back, arms folded over his chest. "Then enlighten me, Merlin. How have I failed your illustrious standards?"

Merlin stared. "Well, you made me recopy a perfectly fine letter."

"You fell asleep and marked it with an impression of your cheek!"

"You could still read it, dollophead!"

Arthur slapped him on the back of his head, but without any real force.

"Hey!" Merlin rubbed dramatically at the supposed sore spot.

"Insolence, Merlin. Watch it."

Merlin smiled, biting his apple once more, hoping someday he _could_ enlighten Arthur about far more than an insignificant ink smudge.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thus ends this arc! One more for Year 3-Now that Morgana has accessed her magic, Morgause and Nimueh are ready to unleash their plan, and three familiar faces return!


	65. Gathering Storm

A woman shrouded in a dark cloak clasped bony fingers around a door's handle, pressing carefully as she entered a tiny one room hovel. She glared as she usually did, insulted by the meager surroundings. At least on the Isle of the Blessed she'd had an entire complex to roam, no matter the echo of painful memories. Every time she stepped inside this place she recalled how far the high priestesses of the Old Religion had fallen, so far they sequestered themselves inside a run down shack in a deep valley surrounded by thick woodlands.

The other woman inside the hovel occupied a corner, a simple wooden bowl commanding her attention. This woman, once her protégée, had made revenge and destruction her food.

Nimueh slipped off the cloak, though she felt only a smidgen warmer despite the fire in the middle of the room. She stalked to Morgause's side, glancing into the bowl's water. As always, one face floated on the surface of the window to the outside world―the Lady Morgana. "She's strong enough now?"

Morgause glanced at her with a smirk. "Close. I think we may put the first part of our plan into action. Have you found his resting place?"

"Yes," Nimueh reported. "Are you sure you are strong enough to replicate the spell?"

Morgause laughed. "I surpassed you long ago."

Nimueh warily stared at the woman out of the corner of her eye. "Such arrogance could be your downfall. You will be within the walls of Camelot. One wrong step and all will come to naught."

Morgause's eyes flashed as she turned from the bowl and her sister's image vanished. "Keep your word, old woman."

Nimueh raised a hand and Morgause flung up her own. They stared for several long seconds. Nimueh slowly lowered her hand and Morgause mirrored her movement. "You should be punished for such insolence."

Morgause smoldered. "The days the priestesses ruled me have ended. You do not have that authority any more."

Nimueh continued to study her. The girl had come to them angry, filled with fear expressing itself in hate. She'd been hard to control, rebellious. Her nature had fashioned a ruthless woman over the years. "You think to raise a new order in _your_ image."

Morgause wandered away to a chair, sinking down. "I've earned the right. It is through my work that the high priestesses will rise again. And if you do your part, I will give you an honored place in _my_ sisterhood."

Nimueh blinked, once, twice. She moved to the bed at the side of the room, exhausted after her painstaking search. Until Uther Pendragon met his end, she could put up with egotistical brats.

* * *

Morgana's brow crunched in concentration, drops of sweat forming and trickling down her nose. She didn't lift a finger to wipe them away. The rope swinging from the tree was mainly free, only one more knot to untie. Slowly but surely, it unwound, invisible fingers releasing it. Her breath puffed out in relief and she swiped a sleeve over her face.

"Well done. You have such an ability to interact with intricate things. It's incredible."

Morgana smiled at the praise from her tutor, but still wondered aloud. "Even so, it's difficult."

Aglain's gentle smile and kind eyes came to rest on her. "You are a seer. Visions are your purview. Affecting the physical world will not come easy for you, but what you can do is impressive."

Morgana yanked the rope down from the tree. Such a small skill, but so very valuable. It would help her to release any sorcerers Uther might try to imprison. What she had seen happen to Mordred's friend would never occur again on her watch.

"Speaking of seeing..."

Reluctant, Morgana turned her attention to Aglain. "Again?"

"If you are willing."

Morgana let a hand rest along her ribs. For four months Aglain had asked this question when he came on his visits, and each time she had refused. He kept telling her she would always be afraid of her strongest connection to magic until she learned to manage it. But she already knew what it would say, what she would see―Uther's doom. "What if I see what I've told you?"

Aglain tilted his head in curiosity. "What if you do not?"

Morgana sighed, winding the rope into a coil as she paced to a felled trunk and sagged down. "I've never seen anything good. It's always evil."

Aglain moved to join her, eyes never wavering from hers. "And this is a gift. You know this."

Morgana bowed her head, hand massaging her neck. Aglain had advised her several times now that seeing trial handed one the power to avoid it. Rationally, she knew this to be true, had acted on it like when she'd seen Arthur and Merlin in the cave and been able to rescue them. But the sorceress who had named her the cause of Uther's downfall, and the woman calling her sister and declaring Uther's reign must end, had seemed to be acting on more than visions. They spoke in certainties, destinies, maybe even prophecies.

Morgana fingered the bracelet that prevented the visions. She ever feared removing it would somehow open the door for the prophecy, force it to come to pass. "I'm not ready."

Aglain only nodded kindly as he always did. Morgana grimaced. She felt so weak and spineless every time she told him "no."

Footsteps sounded near. Morgana jumped up; Aglain swiveled, remaining seated. A bearded former knight stumbled into the shaded grove. "How's it coming?"

Morgana grinned and fell into Lancelot's arms, receiving a kiss on her brow. Lancelot screwed up his lips. "Salty."

Morgana giggled. "Leave it to a man not to think sweat a disgusting taste. Where have you been?"

"Scoping out patrols. I saw one depart just now. Arthur and Merlin were in it."

Morgana nodded absently. "They're going all the way to Cenred's border."

Lancelot frowned. "Why there?"

Morgana let him go, picking up the bag she'd brought and secreting the rope into it. "Raiders have been attacking certain villages. Uther suspects Cenred is behind them seeking to take the land for his own without drawing out an army."

Lancelot released a heavy sigh.

Morgana understood it. "Arthur can do this without you."

"I made a vow to him."

"And you fill it," she said quietly. "Every time you shadow him. Will you go this time?"

"If he's going close to Cenred? Of course."

Morgana hefted her bag, then placed a hand on his chest as he leaned down and she leaned up for a proper kiss. "Be careful."

"I always am." Lancelot ran his hands through her hair. He nodded to Aglain and disappeared into the woods.

Morgana turned to the Druid, pulling out some fruit and a letter from her sack. "I have these for Mordred."

Aglain smiled again, but sadly, and it worried her.

"Is he all right?"

"He's...left us."

"What?" Morgana asked with alarm. "Why?"

"We don't know. For months he was so subdued, recovering from his wound. We healed it completely, yet he still claimed he could feel it. And he missed Freya."

The girl. She had returned to the camp only to bid farewell to them all, assuring them she was safe and cared for. Mordred apparently had wanted to leave with her but she'd said he couldn't.

"It was his choice," Morgana muttered.

Aglain nodded affirmation.

Morgana turned away, fuming and stuffing her gift and letter back into her pack. Curse Arthur! If he hadn't chased them down and wounded Mordred, she could have seen the druid again, maybe stopped him running off like that.

"He is not your burden to bear," Aglain spoke wisely.

Morgana nodded, but inside hurt more than she showed. She felt responsible for him, even if it didn't make any logical sense.

* * *

Merlin patted Lebryt on the neck and beamed when he heard Nero's call somewhere in the surrounding forest. The heat of summer had been banished by Autumn's fine days and they were headed east. Yes, Arthur had urged his father to let him lead the patrol to secure the border. He was to accompany a contingent of knights and leave them at Buckden, the stronghold that maintained border security. Arthur was then to return―but he wouldn't, at least, not as Uther intended.

Merlin grinned to himself. He would finally lay eyes on Ealdor again, hug his mother, share his home with Arthur, and maybe even meet his father. He often indulged himself, imagining his parents together, what they might look like, how they might act. Arthur was keeping his promise to visit Ealdor.

Merlin glanced ahead at Arthur leading the knights. He always looked so regal when he rode, a man truly born to be king. Still, his face had been pinched in a contemplative scowl most of the ride, and that was unlike his master. Arthur usually conversed with the knights, encouraging camaraderie; today he was drawn and reclusive.

Merlin sighed. Arthur had shaped himself into a model prince the last few months; anything he did to right those things his father might consider unworthy of a royal's attentions was done quietly. The relationship between the prince and the king had mended to such an extent that Arthur could persuade Uther to let him manage such patrols as this. He'd gained his father's trust back in spades. So it would pain him if Uther had rejected his most recent proposal.

When Arthur called a halt to freshen the horses at a stream, Merlin slid down from Lebryt's back, leading him to the stream, then backtracked to take care of Arthur's horse, Brenner.

"A squire can do that," Arthur insisted when Merlin pulled the reins from his hands.

"You don't have a squire," Merlin returned. Arthur had never wanted to seem to favor one noble over the other.

"And you're a scribe."

"Who's more than capable of watering a horse," Merlin grumbled. "Unless you packed a load of scrolls and a quill and intend to dictate to me and ruin my rest."

Arthur shook his head, and his small smile encouraged Merlin. "You've spent too much time sitting around, though. We need a good training session."

Merlin rolled his eyes.

"And now's as good a time as any." Arthur reached down, snapping up a longish stick from the ground and tossing it to Merlin who barely caught it.

"Arthur!" he hissed, glancing around. "Not here."

"This is what impertinence gets you, Merlin."

He retrieved another stick and without warning lashed out with it. Merlin jumped back, rounded Lebryt and started running. Arthur hooted with laughter and took off after him, ignoring the startled and confused looks of the knights all around them.

"Trouble, my lord?" one called out.

"No!" Arthur shouted without looking back.

Merlin turned when he reached a copse of bushes that blocked his way, brandishing his stick. "This is childish, Arthur!"

Arthur grinned, swinging his stick round in patterns like he did his sword. He thrust and Merlin's stick clacked against the prince's. "You still remember. Good."

He came again and Merlin met every blow, but then Arthur rushed, forcing him to abandon the protection at his back to step sideways.

Merlin changed tactics, taking the offensive himself and Arthur actually dropped his smirk and concentrated. When his stick was pressed hard and he had to work not to lose it, the prince stepped back, lowering his own.

"You giving in?" Merlin taunted.

Arthur stared a moment longer. "You still practice with Gwen."

Merlin lowered his stick, following Arthur's thoughts. "Yeah."

"So you're not just sitting around lazily all day."

"No... Arthur... If you want me to stop..."

"No. Keep practicing. She's good and you need her." He walked away.

Merlin huffed a breath, guilt replacing the exhilaration of the moment. Arthur had been distressed about Gwen for months and refused to talk about her except when necessary. Merlin had tried to patch things up, appealing to Gwen, but she had wrenched a promise out of him that he'd butt out of anything to do with her relationship to Arthur. From what he had put together, Gwen had rejected Arthur after the Mordred incident, he guessed disturbed Arthur had wounded the druid boy. It wasn't fair, Merlin thought. Arthur had helped Mordred get away, too. Didn't he deserve some credit for that?

Merlin followed after Arthur back to their horses. He silently watered both Lebryt and Brenner, then asked Arthur for his water skin to refill it. Arthur handed it to him without comment. When Merlin returned, he found his prince leaning with a shoulder against a tree, brooding again.

He leaned on the other side and queried, "You talked to your father about the sorcerers, didn't you?"

Arthur sighed. "Yes."

"He was upset."

"To put it mildly."

Merlin looked down at his hands and twisted the bracelet on his wrist Gwen had given him so long ago. Arthur had such good ideas, was intent on making Camelot better for those like him, at least as far as his prejudice would let him. He'd built up enough rapport with Uther he'd thought he could finally suggest magic users arrested solely on the basis that they possessed magic skill should be given an opportunity to reject their practices.

"Let me guess," Merlin spoke sardonically. "Sorcerers are lying, deceitful cowards, and you can never trust them to keep their word."

Arthur grunted and Merlin took that to be an affirmative.

Merlin picked at a piece of peeling bark on the tree. "Arthur?"

"Um."

"You really don't think all sorcerers evil at heart, do you? Not if you think they can stop doing it, right?"

"I...haven't figured that out yet."

"But..."

"Don't worry about your mother," Arthur commanded sharply.

"I'm not."

"Hers was a mistake. Nothing more."

Merlin rotated, his back to the tree, looking up at the clear blue sky and a circling kestrel, Nero following him. At least if Arthur knew about him, he'd be undecided concerning the evil of his nature. But on the best of days, Arthur would still consider him a mistake.

* * *

Gwaine woke from a restless sleep and his pain doubled. Maybe tripled. He wasn't sure. Levels of pain were quite arbitrary. His mind roved, pondering how to scale pain. He didn't feel broken bone pain―that was excruciating. But it wasn't "ow, I stubbed my toe" pain either. He attempted to open his right eye, clenching his teeth, then gave up. Blood must have crusted it shut. He swallowed, though the lack of spit arrested the motion. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been given water.

Darkness surrounded him like it had for...hours? days? weeks? He hadn't been able to track time. As long as he'd been here, his wrists had been chained up to the wall behind him. His muscles ached dully, far beyond screaming at him now. He wasn't sure what that meant. How long did it take to lose feeling in arms stretched above your head?

Gwaine opened cracked lips and tried to speak. "E...E...El..." He couldn't. He clamped his mouth shut.

"Gw...aine."

It was a voice he hadn't heard in...however long, but it was glorious because he hadn't been left alone.

"P...P..."

"Save...your...breath."

Well, Percival at least seemed in better shape.

"I'm..." A shaky breath. "To...your right."

"El...wh...where..." Ugh. A swollen mouth was aggravating.

"Took him...again."

Gwaine hadn't actually seen Elyan ever since they'd found themselves in this predicament, but the younger man had been thrown next door, and he'd heard the first questions and the assault. He hadn't been able to block out the screams chained as he was. "Get...esc..."

Percival laughed darkly. "My ribs...broken...maybe...ankle."

Gwaine stopped talking, frustrated tears making an appearance. No one could see, so he let them fall without shame. The infiltration had been his idea in the first place. Elyan wanted to meet Leon and send word to Arthur first, but Gwaine insisted on going in for proof. Arthur wouldn't be able to do anything without evidence.

Escape. It was out of the question, really. They had one hope left. That a knight of Camelot they'd met not more than three times would think them worth enough to risk coming after.


	66. Best Laid Plans

The wardrobe door creaked as she tugged it open and Gwen froze. What if someone heard her and decided to investigate? She feared what punishment might be levied if she were caught sneaking in royal chambers. A minute passed and she relaxed, carefully opening the wardrobe fully and scanning its contents. They were still there. Not a one missing.

She retreated until the back of her knees hit the bed. She slowly sat, wrestling the lump in her throat. How long had it been since she'd felt his touch? Days, weeks, months, and she still fought the urge to run into this very room and beg for a second chance.

It had hurt when he'd stopped wearing her shirts. He'd probably given them away. Really, it was what he should do to move on, but morbid curiosity had driven her desire to _know_. And here the shirts hung, each one she'd sewn with a loving hand washed and pressed as if waiting for him. Gwen buried her face in a hand. She'd cried so many tears none appeared now. Grief had dissolved into constant dull ache.

"Gwen?"

Gwen jumped, looking up. "My lady!"

Morgana strolled in. "I was looking for you and when I couldn't find you, I wondered if you might have come here considering Arthur's absence."

Gwen's cheeks warmed and she ducked her head.

Morgana reached her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "It's understandable." The ward lifted her chin with one finger. "I wish I could make it better. You were so supportive when Lancelot was gone."

"It's the way it has to be," Gwen stated, squaring her shoulders. She left Morgana's gentle grasp to close the wardrobe door. "It was a childish dream anyway."

Morgana held out a hand to Gwen who took it. She squeezed tightly. "If you can't have Arthur, there will be another man who loves you deeply. Look forward, not back."

Gwen nodded. Morgana dropped her hand, rubbing at her shoulders. "How was...training?" Gwen's voice lowered. They might be alone, but one could never take too many precautions where magic was concerned.

"I'm making progress. Aglain is pleased."

Gwen frowned. "Then why do you look upset?"

Morgana scowled. "Mordred left the druid camp."

"What? Why?"

Morgana shrugged. "They aren't sure, I gathered. He was feeling the wound even though it's healed and missing the girl he tried to save."

Gwen tried to comfort her lady this time with a hand to her shoulder. "You care so much about him."

"At least you had Arthur for a year. It makes sense you'd be broken up. I only knew Mordred for two days."

Gwen pulled her mistress to her side and clasped her arm, guiding her to the door. "Sometimes relationships are like that. You just meet someone once and you know you're meant to walk together."

* * *

Arthur reined in Brenner when they reached the Buckden stronghold. He hadn't been out this way in several years' time, but the activity and people surrounding its walls hadn't changed. He smiled to himself when he spied Merlin's wide-eyed interest. Even at almost fifteen, Merlin seemed to experience the world like a small child, amazed at every new thing. Arthur had first put it off to the boy's sheltered village upbringing, but now recognized it as a particular characteristic. The boy harbored a whirling mind that drank in his surroundings and sorted it out in ways Arthur would never think of.

Once he and his men had passed their horses off, Arthur spent some time meeting with the garrison's captain. He sent Merlin off to arrange their room and procure food. Of course, they'd be invited to a modest feast tonight in honor of Arthur's arrival, but the prince currently craved something that wasn't patrol fare. When he concluded immediate duties, a servant directed him to the largest of the garrison's rooms on the third floor. Arthur entered to find Merlin half falling out of the window. He rushed over and grabbed the boy's belt, hauling him back inside.

"What are you doing?" he shouted.

Merlin knocked his hands away and straightened his belt again. "Looking for Nero."

Arthur shook his head. "You have to lean that far out?" He stomped away, flinging off his cape to cover a chair in a corner.

"You worried about me?" Merlin's smirk was full of cheek.

Arthur snorted. "Yes. Who's going to write my letters if you kill yourself in a fall?"

"You," Merlin returned immediately.

"You want another training lesson _right now_?" Arthur threatened as he paused undressing, brandishing his sheathed sword.

Merlin raised both hands in supplication. "No. I'm good."

Arthur smugly grinned, dropping the sword on top of the cape. Merlin began to unbuckle his armor where he couldn't reach.

"Bath's ready and your clothes are laid out on the bed."

"Let me guess," Arthur drawled. "You sent the servant away to tend to me yourself."

"Well, I know the way you like things."

A smile played on Arthur's lips. Really, it was true. After all this time, he and Merlin knew each other inside out. It was one reason the boy was so endearring to him. Merlin suffered his faults, but he was always quintessentially Merlin, open, honest, direct―a welcoming breath of fresh air for Arthur.

"I told the captain we'd only stay tonight. On to Ealdor tomorrow." Arthur felt Merlin's wide grin before he even looked over his shoulder to catch it. "Looking forward to it?"

"Definitely. It's been...two years." Merlin's brow creased, and his smile vanished.

"What is it?"

"Well," he said, stepping back while Arthur removed his pauldron and set it down. "I think maybe I should have visited more."

"You wrote though."

Merlin nodded. "Yeah. Every month. I mean, I tried to anyway."

"She'll understand."

Merlin lifted Arthur's chain mail over his head and carefully arranged it on a table to keep the links from tangling.

"She's a good woman, Merlin."

"Ah ha!"

"What?"

"See? You said she was good. That means that she wasn't evil at heart even when she used magic."

Arthur met Merlin's triumphant gaze. "On about that still, are we? Look, it doesn't matter what's in a person's heart when they commit a crime."

"But, you've said..."

"Giving people a chance to repent isn't saying they aren't guilty."

Merlin tromped over to a chair and sprawled into it, one leg dangling over an armrest.

"The law is the law." Arthur walked over and understood when Merlin jerked away from his hair ruffle. "The Merlin world again. You want people to be better than they are...Maybe you see them better than they are."

"I certainly see _you_ that way," Merlin grumbled. Arthur guffawed and moved behind the dressing screen to change.

* * *

Uther listened to another council member's drawn out report. He prided himself on his ability to appear interested even when presented with claptrap. It was vital as king for everyone to think he cared as much as they did about an issue. That way, when he dissented, they'd accept all the easier, believing he'd truly considered their words.

But today, even though he meant to listen, his mind wandered. His son had left with the patrol headed to the border, and they'd parted on bad terms. Arthur had been so conciliatory this last few months, submissive, attentive, turning back into the son he had thought he'd known before everything had gone so wrong. But then he'd proposed sorcerers be offered an opportunity to _change_. Uther had lectured over the irrationality of such a viewpoint. Magic was an addictive power, lusted after and craved. Arthur had countered with the example of Gaius renouncing magic. Uther had stated Gaius' choice wasn't the same, and Arthur argued it was, and before he knew it, he was raging about Arthur's lack of experience.

Uther huffed through his nose. He should have spoken to his son before the patrol set off. Now he'd have to wait for Arthur's return to explain he understood his motive, giving their people the benefit of the doubt, even though the conclusion was out of the question.

The councilor's droning came back to Uther's attention when the council chamber door opened. A knight poked his head in to Uther's relief, his appearance promising a momentary respite from petty concerns, boring reports, and council members vying for recognition. The knight apologized, bowing his head.

"My lord, I don't mean to intrude."

Uther waved him in. "We're close to finishing." He eyed the councilor who cleared his throat.

"Yes, my lord. I've said all I wanted to on the subject."

"Then I will have an answer by evening tomorrow."

"As you wish, sire." The councilor seated himself. The knight halted next to Uther's chair.

"A knight has arrived at our gates, my lord."

"And his retinue?"

"He is alone."

Uther frowned. A knight traveling was uncommon. Perhaps he was in trouble and in need of aid? "Of what house?"

The knight's eyes darted to the councilors surrounding the table, then landed back on the king. "That's just it, my lord. He carries a shield we have not seen in some time."

Uther glanced at the wondering eyes around his table. "Whose?"

"The House of de Bois."

Uther's heart stuttered and stopped. One second. Two. He breathed long and hard. "You're certain?" he asked, hoping he sounded unfazed. The council members were already eying each other in surprise and concern.

"It's the white phoenix on a background of blue. What should we do, my lord?"

What could he do? Leaving the knight outside would cause more of a stir. "Bring him here."

"Sire." The knight bowed once more and retreated. Murmuring filled the council chamber. Uther didn't arrest it, lost in his own tumultuous thoughts. This must be someone from Agravaine or maybe even the lord himself. But why now after all these years? He had left the man alone, hadn't he? Let him retain his lands even when he could have locked him up for threatening the king. They'd maintained the distance. Agaravaine paid his dues and managed his lands, and Uther had no reason to call him to account.

Uther finally noticed the councilors, their minds and tongues already fomenting gossip. He rose from his seat. "Quiet." The room grew still. "We do not know yet why our brother knight has come to us. We dare not guess until he has presented himself."

The councilors' heads bobbed obediently, their conversation disappearing, replaced instead by the unease of pondering why anyone from the House of de Bois would show their face in the king's citadel.

Uther paced back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. Agravaine as he'd seen him last appeared before his mind's eye, wild in wrath, accusing him of the downfall of his older brother Tristan and his younger sister Ygraine. Arthur hadn't been but a week old when the lord had stormed his throne room, chastising, raving. Guards had removed him, locking him in a cell before he assented to civil conversation. They had pledged mutual peace out of respect for Ygraine. Agravaine had ridden away and not returned since.

The doors opened. Uther turned beside his chair, swallowing his unease. The knight marching toward him was much slighter in build than Agravaine. Only a man under the lord's charge then.

The knight stopped at the end of the table and bowed.

"Sir Knight," Uther greeted. "To what do we owe the honor of your presence?"

There was a brief hesitation, then two gloved hands clutched either side of the helmet and its removal rendered Uther speechless. A woman shook out long brown hair tinged with blonde. She smiled. "Uncle," she replied. "We are well met."

Uther only stared. The House of de Bois...a young girl not even on the cusp of womanhood...it couldn't be.

"I see you wonder at my identity. It is true. I have come home."

Uther swallowed thickly. "Your...name."

She tipped her chin proudly. "Morgause, daughter of Tristan de Bois, brother to your queen."

The council burst into chatter as Uther paled, his mind rebelling at her declaration, and his mouth unable to inquire. A man who hadn't concerned him in years suddenly dominated his thoughts―Tristan de Bois, a formidable knight and commander as light haired as his sister, a young man and father taken too soon in a skirmish.

"How can you be she?" a voice called out, a councilor standing and pointing an accusing finger. "She died when a child."

Morgause didn't even give the councilor the decency of looking at him, but kept her gaze fixed on Uther. "If I died, then it is news to myself as I am standing here alive and well."

Uther worked to penetrate her brown depths, steady and unwavering. She echoed Tristan's features. If it was true, what did she remember of the past? Would she expose his deepest shame? He clenched a fist at his side. He should send her away now, before it was too late.

"Why have you returned?" another councilor spoke up.

"These last few years have been...difficult for me. I have lived by my wits and my sword. I find myself in need, and I recalled the hospitality of Camelot, this place that meant so much to me."

Did her words convey double meaning or were they as innocent as they sounded?

"King Uther then was known for his kindness to those in his favor, as my father was. Does his hospitality still extend to his commander's progeny?"

Uther slowly opened his mouth, knowing he'd been forced into a corner but not sure if it had been done intentionally. "Tristan de Bois was an honorable man and good friend. You are welcome."

* * *

Arthur chuckled when the soldiers that had joined them for the night's festivities found themselves most taken with his scribe's kestrel. Nero had impressed them, especially when they were informed he was blind. They'd let the bird strut up and down the table, feeding it scraps from their plates. Nero had finally settled down in Merlin's lap, and the amused men had teased the boy good-naturedly about its love for him. Merlin smiled and laughed with them.

Arthur sighed and leaned back in his seat, feeling more at ease than he had in months. Back home, constant duty made him feel like a juggling jester trying to keep everything in perfect motion. Here he was among men with straightforward goals and objectives, military minds he identified with.

Merlin slurped at his soup, and Arthur leaned close, bumping him shoulder to shoulder. "Manners, Merlin."

Merlin glanced at him. "You slurp all the time."

"I do not."

"In your room in private you do."

"Only then."

"So you only behave when your father's around."

Arthur narrowed vexed eyes and Merlin rolled his, but took better care with his spoon. He had to admit Merlin had a point; he did a lot of things just when his father was around.

"Excuse me, sire."

Arthur peered over his left shoulder to find a servant bowing his head. "Yes?"

"Someone has arrived looking for you."

Arthur lifted an eyebrow. The only people who knew about the patrol were back in Camelot. "Who?"

"Sir Leon. He's waiting in your room."

Arthur nodded and the servant withdrew. He turned to see Merlin staring at him with concern. "Leon?" the boy asked.

"Hm."

"Wasn't he on leave?"

Arthur nodded again. Leon had received leave just last week. He should have been on his way back to Camelot if what he'd told Arthur was correct, that he meant to travel to his hometown and back in the time he'd been afforded.

"What do you think he wants?"

Arthur shook his head, but stood. He pushed down on Merlin's shoulder when the boy started to stand. "Stay here and enjoy the food. You'll be stuck with camp fare again soon enough."

Merlin stayed put, but worry colored his expression as Arthur departed.

* * *

Uther hesitated before a door in a secluded hallway, hand on its wood, unsure of the wisdom in his next action. Maybe it was foolish to stir a pot that had been left alone for too long. But surely Gaius was trustworthy; he had always kept his word to the king. Uther steeled himself and opened the door.

"My lord," Gaius greeted immediately, looking up from his worktable.

"Gaius."

"What do you need, sire?"

Uther approached until he occupied the space on the other side of the worktable. "Has rumor reached you of our new guest?"

"Guest? No. I've been in here all day. Merlin's absence makes my work more pressing."

Uther opened his mouth, then paused. Gaius looked up and his right eye cocked as it always had when assessing. "A...knight arrived. A woman."

"A woman?" Women knights were not unheard of, but exceedingly rare, usually queens or ladies who had been widowed and forced into defending their lands.

"From the House of... de Bois."

Uther swore Gaius' eyebrow crinkled higher. "Lord Agravaine's house."

"Tristan's."

Gaius dropped the rod he'd been using to stir something and slipped down on the stool behind him. "Who is she?"

"She says she's Morgause de Bois."

Gaius stared at him for several seconds, then spoke quietly. "The child."

"A woman now. Gaius, I need to know. Have you ever heard of anyone who survived the..."

Gaius filled in the blank at his hesitance. "Blessed Massacre?"

Uther nodded. He hated that common phrase. It wasn't what it had been. It had been an execution, not a massacre.

"The only one I know is Nimueh herself, though it is possible the witch finders did not track down all those not in attendance at the time the ritual was performed."

Uther's mind wandered back twenty years ago, when the purge had been in force for a few years. The high priestesses had refused to cease operations, had chosen to fight him directly, killing his knights. He'd had no choice but to end them en masse to prevent the deaths of his men. The night of Samhain was the obvious choice when they gathered for a ritual in their courtyard. It hadn't been difficult to pay off one of their servants who nurtured a grudge. When word reached Camelot that the high priestesses and their followers had been found dead on the Isle, Uther knew the poison had done its work.

"She could have been absent, then," Uther confirmed.

"Yes."

Uther clenched his jaw. Vivienne had sent her daughter to the Isle, supposedly to be educated. The priestesses had once offered themselves to the education of the wealthy, a separate endeavor from their magical practices, one he surmised designed to keep the nobles in their debt. But Vivienne herself had left the priestesses when she was twelve, never to return. He'd guessed the true reason Morgause had been sent away―for the sanctuary the Isle offered; he could not step foot on it.

"Are you afraid of her, sire?" Gaius' eyes reflected more knowledgeable then Uther liked.

"What do I have to fear?" he countered, puffing out his chest.

"If she was not killed, mentors and friends would have been. You must be careful of her, sire."

Uther pinched his lips together. He already knew that, but hearing Gaius caution it made everything too concrete.

* * *

Merlin stumbled down the hallway towards his and Arthur's room. He patted a hand over his mouth when he yawned widely and shrugged his shoulder at Nero's claws prickling his shoulder. All he wanted now was a good sleep before they headed out to Ealdor in the morning.

When he pushed open the door to the joint bedroom he was surprised to discover Arthur still awake. When his prince hadn't returned, Merlin assumed he'd gone to bed after seeing Leon. Merlin scanned the room. Leon wasn't present, and Arthur sat in front of the fireplace, intent eyes gazing into its flames.

"Arthur?"

Arthur blinked as if he'd been pulled out of a dream and turned his gaze on his servant. "Finally back are you?"

Merlin stepped inside and shut the door behind him, leaning against it, immediately worried. "What's wrong?"

Arthur gestured to the stool next to him and resumed studying the flames. Merlin shook Nero off onto a table and sat down by his prince.

"I talked to Leon."

"Where is he?"

"He'll bed down with the other knights."

"Why was he here?"

"To find me."

"Is something wrong in Camelot?"

"No."

Arthur's jaw muscle clenched and relaxed several times. He often did that when he meant to deliver bad news. Merlin's stomach roiled.

"Leon's been meeting with Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival."

"Really?" Merlin's voice rose in excitement at the revelation. He'd liked those guys and was overjoyed to hear they still had a tie to Camelot.

Arthur turned his head and his serious gaze squelched Merlin's joy. "They've been keeping him aware of issues outside of Camelot. He meets them at a tavern over the border."

"And they told him something bad?"

"Leon intended to met them once more two days ago. They never appeared."

Merlin stared. "And that means..."

Arthur propped his chin on steepled hands. "It could mean nothing, but last time he communicated with the them, they thought they'd found the man who employed the troll and goblin."

Merlin's eyes rounded. He'd heard their enemy's voice once, when he and Morgana had stumbled upon a secret meeting. "You think they went after him?"

"It's likely. Leon fears they're in danger." Arthur's gaze rotated back to him. "To follow their lead, they would have broken their exile and entered Camelot."

Merlin wasn't surprised. They'd already done that once after all.

Arthur understood the same, only it made him angry. "They're risking themselves for me again. Foolishness!"

"And bravery," Merlin defended.

"And that," Arthur whispered. "Hang it all!" He sat up straight in his chair. "They're as loyal as Leon and Lancelot! I haven't done a thing to deserve it."

"You stood up for them. About the tax."

"That was more for the people than them...and Gwen."

"You still did it."

Arthur ran an agitated hand through his hair. "The trouble is, Merlin, they might need help, and I can't abandon them." He looked pointedly at Merlin.

Merlin's heart sank. "Oh. You mean, you need to go with Leon."

"I'm sorry. I know you wanted to see your mother, your village."

A wave of sadness and disappointment washed over Merlin, but he wasn't twelve anymore. He'd learned from Arthur, watched him sacrifice so many times for the greater good. His mind ruled his emotions in seconds. "We have to find them."

Arthur's mouth resolved into a thin, grim smile. "I should make you stay here."

"You promised to let me go with you wherever I wanted," Merlin reminded Arthur of the vow he'd sworn months ago.

"Wonder what it would take to make you stay put," Arthur mused.

"Clapping me in irons."

"I think there's a dungeon below."

"If you dared..."

Arthur shook his head. "You'd ruin my letters for a month after. I won't risk it. So, tomorrow then, we head to Brechfa."

"Brechfa?"

"South of Camelot. Leon says the man they were searching was a former knight of Camelot in that area."

"How will we know where to look?"

Arthur rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "There's someone I can ask. I haven't seen him in a long time, but he can't very well refuse me."

"Who?" Merlin asked.

"My Uncle. Agravaine de Bois. He manages a large portion of Brechfa. If anyone will know where to look, it's him."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Sorry Merlin won't make it to Ealdor :-( But I promise we'll see Ealdor again soon! And just to whet your appetite, this current story arc is the last set up for all the MAJOR changes that will occur at the beginning of Year Four. I'm so excited to be nearing the point the whole story turns.


	67. Ties that Bind

Lancelot yawned, hand over his mouth, and bounced his shoulders at the weight of his pack. He traveled fairly light, but any additional weight on top of chain mail made its presence known. He'd settled in a secluded area screened by trees and bushes through which he could view the Buckden Stronghold. He wasn't sure how long Arthur would stay, but he guessed only a night or two.

His teeth tore into some dry meat as he kept an eye on the front gates. He sighed. How nice it would have been to dine at the feast they surely must have provided for the prince of Camelot. He dearly missed his days as an honored knight. He hadn't ever regretted his choice to resign, but he was still fashioned for the camaraderie of knights. The Druids had actually asked him to live with them more than once and he declined, his vow of yesteryear to Arthur holding him fast. That, and his guilt. He had left Arthur vulnerable in Camelot to face a threat from a troll and a goblin and his very own father.

Of the tale, Arthur's flogging had distressed Lancelot the most, reminding him too keenly of his own suffering at the hands of a man meant to be his greatest protector. Even his final memory of his father was colored with shouting, berating, and several searing strikes of a belt. His latest bruises hadn't faded when they received word his father had been killed in battle. He'd left his weeping mother for the solitude of their garden and its small pond where he'd contemplated his relieved reflection bouncing off the clear water. He was finally free.

Lancelot rubbed at the back of his neck. Uther had always been hard on Arthur, which everyone found understandable. After all, he only had one heir to shape into a man worthy of a throne. Even so, Lancelot would never have called the king abusive―until now. His hands balled into fists, righteously angry for his friend.

The gates of the stronghold opened. Lancelot watched closely. A morning patrol perhaps? He squared his shoulders when he spotted a head of golden hair closely followed by the raven locks of a young lad. Arthur and Merlin, already heading out. And a third. Leon. He'd seen the knight arrive late last evening. He wondered if there might be trouble back in Camelot. Well, he'd soon find out. He waited until the horses passed into the forest, then hurried behind to keep up on foot.

* * *

"A knight arrived yesterday," Gwen spoke conversationally as she brushed Morgana's hair. The ward continued to apply her rouge, looking at her maid in the reflection of her mirror.

"Oh?"

Gwen grinned, eyes twinkling. "Everyone's talking about her."

" _Her_?" Morgana's eyes widened.

"I couldn't believe it, either. I know women have acted as knights before, but I've never met one."

Morgana set her gilded rouge case on the vanity. "A woman. How strange. And here."

"You could be one, you know."

"Hm?" Morgana glanced back at Gwen.

"A knight."

Morgana laughed.

"Really. You're as good as one."

"So could you."

Gwen looked down. "Well...maybe."

"Certainly." Morgana turned in her seat when Gwen finished sliding two golden combs into her mistress' hair to hold back the silky black waves. "But let's not. We have an advantage, Gwen. We aren't bound by the knights' code."

Gwen smiled mischievously. "You don't approve of chivalry and gallantry?"

Morgana stood. "I need to be free to do what I must."

Gwen nodded thoughtfully. "Like helping Mordred."

"Like that." Morgana fingered her red lips. "I'd like to meet this woman knight. Where is she?"

"One of the guest rooms."

"She's staying here in the castle?"

Gwen nodded. "The king is her uncle."

Morgana stared. "What?"

"She says her father was Tristan de Bois."

Tristan had been Ygraine's oldest brother, but no one had ever mentioned a wife or child. He had died early on in Uther's reign. "Where has she been all these years?"

Gwen shrugged. "No one can say."

"Too bad Arthur isn't here to meet his cousin."

Gwen chuckled. "I don't think he'd approve of a woman knight."

"Oh, I don't know. He approves of you, and you've bested him at least once."

Gwen flushed and dipped her head, tears gathering at the corner of her eyes.

Morgana's heart sank. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned him."

Gwen wiped at her eyes. "It's fine. It is. He means nothing to me now." She headed to the door, Morgana following and knowing every word of her statement was a lie.

* * *

Morning gave way to afternoon. Merlin appreciated the breeze that stirred through the trees, a cherished symptom of a crisp autumn day. He'd always loved this season, the coolness a relief after summer heat. He'd risen this morning weighed down by the disappointment of not heading to Ealdor, but such a perfect day turned his emotions as well as the admission that he'd never deny helping the three men they sought. After all, they'd given themselves for Arthur; the favor had to be returned.

A couple stops along the way, one of them for a meal, and they crossed into Brechfa. Merlin trotted up next to Arthur. "When will we be on your uncle's lands?"

"We are now."

Merlin glanced around. "But no one stopped us."

"He has watchmen, I'm sure, but they'll be spread thinly. It won't be as well guarded as Camelot." Arthur looked at him, just realizing. "You've never been to a lord's estate."

"Nope," Merlin answered. "Weren't exactly many of those around Ealdor. And if you did get called to a lord's lands..."

"What?"

"Just for trials and stuff." Merlin bit his lip.

"You ever put on trial?" Arthur inquired at his unease.

"Not me."

"Who?"

Merlin sighed. "Will's father."

"Your friend."

Merlin nodded.

"For what?"

"They said he deserted the army. The king didn't come for the trial, though, just let Lord Ritter handle it."

Arthur's face had hardened. Desertion was a serious crime, punishable by death in wartime. "They killed him?"

Merlin swallowed thickly. "I...don't know. Will won't talk about it. But he never came back."

"I'm sorry for your friend, but his father shouldn't have deserted."

"Will's mom was sick and getting worse. The king refused to let him get her to a healer. But he did, and then was caught." Merlin remembered the day, the rejoicing that Will's mother lived, and then the grief when his father had been taken away.

Arthur turned his gaze away. "It's not always a fair world, Merlin," he spoke quietly.

"But it could be," Leon's voice interjected behind them, and Merlin looked over his shoulder to the knight. "There are those with the potential to make it better, my lord."

Merlin smiled, understanding Leon's implication and nodding at Arthur. Arthur's cheeks pinkened and he trotted ahead. Merlin pushed his mount to keep up and changed the subject for the comfort of his prince. "I never knew you had an uncle."

Arthur grunted. "My mother's brother. He and my father had a falling out before I was born. I've rarely heard my father mention him without an accompanied curse."

Merlin's brow furrowed. "But, won't he be upset to see you, then?"

"It won't matter if he is. He'll let us in because he is sworn to the king." Arthur's hands tightened on his reins. "I did meet him once, traveling on the other side of Brechfa. He didn't say much. It was a polite meeting if brief."

Merlin worried his lip. It didn't sound like Arthur was in any danger, but Merlin himself hadn't a good track record with uncles. His had meant to take his magic and almost killed him. He'd learned several lessons when meeting Aredian, one of them that you couldn't always depend on family.

* * *

Morgana had sought the woman knight in her guest room, but found it empty. No one she asked knew where the woman had gone, and Morgana turned her attention to her duties, a short appearance in the women's court where she narrowly avoided the gossip and a trip to the kitchens to assure its scraps were being prepared to send to the orphans of the lower town. It wasn't until long after the mid-afternoon meal when Gwen appeared, breathless.

"The woman...knight...she's in the...training yard..."

They hurried together down a set of stairs and out into golden sunshine. The clash of metal on metal met their ears, a collective murmuring, and then a woman's voice.

"Very good. With a little more work, you might survive an enemy."

Morgana turned the corner to behold a plethora of knights surveying two figures in the training yard, one holding out a hand to another on the ground. The one reaching down was slight of figure and had to be the woman knight. Morgana pushed through the crowd until her path had been noted and those gathered parted for her like ocean waves from a shore. She reached the front where she had an unobstructed view.

The willowy knight's head turned, helmeted, but dark eyes alert. They seemed to search for something and landed on her for just a moment before slipping past. "Any other challengers?"

Morgana's brow furrowed. The voice was oddly familiar. The knight next to her began to step forward when the woman pointed at her. "What about the Lady Morgana? I have heard of her prowess with the blade." Amusement laced her tone.

"Our lady is under our protection," the knight next to Morgana cried out.

The ward ground her jaw. She didn't _need_ their protection. She would have stepped forward herself but Gwen's hand fastened onto her forearm. "Uther." Morgana followed her gaze to see her guardian approaching, the men moving out of his way as they had for her. He passed her and stepped onto the wide open lawn.

"We have beheld your strength. You do not need to prove yourself farther."

Morgana glared at Uther's back, rankled at his butting in to stop the challenge. She pulled at her arm in Gwen's grasp. "Morgana," Gwen warned. "It's not an insult. He's keeping you from harm."

"I have to face her," Morgana whispered back.

Gwen frowned. "Why?"

"Something in her eyes..." The woman knight's words had been polite, but her gaze combative.

"Ah, yes," the woman was saying when Morgana turned her attention to her once more. "Of course. She has been cushioned since birth, beloved and softened. A subservient gift for a man to someday bed in an alliance."

Uther's fists balled. "You do not speak of a lady of our court this way!"

"If I had been raised as she, I might have better manners."

Morgana's blood boiled. She stepped up next to Uther. "I accept your challenge."

Uther's hand gripped her wrist tightly. "Morgana! You will not."

Morgana locked eyes with the king and read not duty, but fear, and his worry increased the insult. "She will not hurt me. Stay and see what I have accomplished all these years."

"Don't be foolish," he hissed at her. She pulled out of his grasp and walked farther into the yard.

"My maid will need to retrieve my mail," Morgana spoke loudly for all to hear to prevent any more of Uther's hedging.

"That won't be necessary," the woman knight said, lifting her helmet. "I can fight without mine, and I will be careful not to cause true harm." Her brown hair tinged with gold flowed over her back and Morgana froze. She was the woman from the crystal, the one who called her "sister" and told her it was time for Uther's reign to end.

The woman looked suddenly concerned, but the expression soon passed, and she smiled again. "Of course, if you are afraid, I will let you clothe yourself in protection. Or you may retreat."

"I..." Morgana recovered, swallowing hard. "No...I...just need a practice sword."

"Over there," the woman gestured to the rack of them as she continued undressing from her armor.

Morgana slowly moved to the rack, considering what might fit her best as her heart beat like a frantic bird in a trap. Did this woman know of her appearance in the cave, or was she oblivious to the vision Morgana suffered? She dearly wished Aglain hadn't returned to the Druid camp, and she could seek out knowledge from her mentor.

When she withdrew a sword and turned, Morgana found the woman still and waiting. She braced herself across from her and held the sword aloft, pointedly ignoring the anxiety in Uther's gaze. The fight began.

The first preliminary attacks were without real threat as each tested the competency of the other, but soon the footwork and attacks grew more complex. The woman smiled throughout, at first with what Morgana took to be haughtiness, but then, strangely, pride. And she started talking, as if they simply sat in court having a civil discussion. Her voice was quiet enough Morgana felt the words had been picked only for her.

"When did you come to Camelot or have you always lived here?"

Thrust, parry, slash, defend.

"My father died and King Uther took me as a ward."

Strike, clack, rounded swing.

"How old were you?"

"Ten."

Jab, forward steps, pressed swords, a step back.

"Who was your father?"

"Gorlois of Tintagel."

"Your mother?"

Cross, thrust up, victory! No. The woman caught the slighted blow.

"Lady Vivienne." Enough questions. It was her turn. "They say Uther is your uncle." Morgana lashed out again, and there was a slight off balance in the woman's step as she caught the swing.

"So he is."

"Tristan de Bois was your father."

The woman initiated a series of complicated maneuvers and Morgana was forced to back up. "He was. He died when I was but three."

"And _your_ mother?"

"Did what she had to care for me."

"Who was she?"

The woman pressed forward, a series of steps Morgana hadn't ever seen nor anticipated, breaking away from the familiar stances of a practice duel and coming on as if she fought a true enemy. "She was a beautiful woman with a large heart who had it broken to pieces before she died." There was true pain in her words. She suddenly lashed at Morgana from the side, and the ward tipped her sword to defend, but the woman rushed, a hand thrown out pushing her hard into her waist so she fumbled backwards.

The woman was upon her in an instant, grasping her arm, her sword laying across her throat. "She was the only family I had left." Her eyes looked sad even though she had just triumphed. She released Morgana and stepped back. "You remind me a little of her. Brave as she in the face of so much destruction."

"Destruction?" Morgana inquired, hand to her neck.

"The way of Camelot." The woman's voice had soured, then she smiled and spoke loudly. "But we take what lot in life we are handed, do we not? I am Morgause de Bois, and it is my honor to duel with one so skilled."

Morgana found herself smiling back, far less afraid. She had no idea why the vision in the cave, but she and this woman were certainly not sisters. Her father would have died years before Morgana was even born. Still, she wondered why the cave would show her _this_ woman calling sister, and the thought suddenly occurred to her maybe she had heard a message for someone else. Maybe this woman looked for another sister, and the vision of herself holding a grieving Arthur was unconnected to the woman's plight.

"You have won," Morgana admitted.

"And you did well. Better than most of these knights. I am impressed."

Morgana's heart swelled, yet she was surprised how much the woman's respect meant to her. "Would you...like to dine with us tonight?"

Morgause held her sword to her forehead and bowed at the waist. "I would be honored."

* * *

A large manor house had come into view, and Arthur pulled his horse to a stop for a moment to survey the area. They had skirted a small town not too long ago, the inevitable gathering of people who ran a lord's holdings and those who provided wares for them. Arthur had wondered as they traversed a dirt path through a brief wood across from the town if his mother had ever been allowed to wander its streets. Perhaps not. She may have been too valuable for that.

Merlin halted next to Arthur, surveying the crops swaying in a breeze. Soon it would be time for the last ploughing before winter. "Are you okay?"

Arthur drew a breath, hearing Leon come up on his other side. He was riding the same land his mother had, and soon he would walk the halls of her home. Maybe his uncle would concede to tell him more than his father had about her if he asked. "I'm fine. Let's move." Arthur trotted on.

A man clad in mail hailed them at the gate. "Ho there! State your business."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Do you not recognize your prince?"

The man stared. "Prince Arthur?"

Leon spoke up. "So it is, and you should have shown your respect by now."

The man bowed, falling to one knee. "My lord. I...didn't recognize you."

Arthur fisted his right palm and held it out. "This is the Pendragon seal and the authority of the king."

"Go tell your master the prince awaits his greeting," Leon prompted.

"Yes, sir knight." The man rose and hurried inside the gates.

Arthur caught Merlin smirking at him. "What?"

"He's terrified of you. He should see you when you sleep, mouth open, drooling..."

"Shut up, Merlin."

A chuckle sounded on his other side and he shot a glance at Leon whose lips were abruptly clamped shut.

It wasn't long before a man appeared, tall, broad shouldered, dark haired, and most unexpectedly, smiling. The last time he'd met his uncle the man had spoken a few words of greeting, scowled the whole time, and departed as swiftly as able. He stopped when he reached them and bowed his head, then offered a hand. "Arthur! If I had known you were coming I could have been properly prepared."

Arthur shared surprised glances with his companions, then slid from his horse and held out his own arm. His uncle gripped his wrist and he returned the gesture. "We need some help, uncle. This visit wasn't planned."

"Well, we will offer you what hospitality we can. Might we speak over dinner?"

Arthur nodded agreement.

Agravaine called out to a servant behind him. "See to the horses and assign our guests rooms." He tightened his grip on Arthur's wrist. "The prince has come."

* * *

Gwen wrung her hands as she strode next to her mistress.

"I don't think you need worry for me," Morgana assured her.

"But she defeated you."

"In fair competition."

"You've taken it rather well."

Morgana chuckled. "I'm not known for being gracious in defeat, am I?"

"Well..."

Morgana patted the girl's shoulder. "I know myself. But being bested by her, it didn't chafe as much." She had no clue why. She hadn't felt shamed, rather even more curious about this woman she had now seen twice, wondering why her gift had chosen to reveal her before she'd ever met her.

"Here we are." Morgana pushed open the door to the king's private dining chamber. Gwen fell into step behind her as she entered. Uther already sat at the head, hands clasped over his plate, face stony. She took her seat to his right, the proper place when Arthur was absent. She was surprised to see Gaius had been invited as well, occupying the king's left.

Gaius rose from his chair to bend his head to her. Morgana smiled back and nodded. Her esteem for the man had grown since the incident with Mordred. The physician had said nothing of the Druid, keeping their secret. Footsteps marched towards the table. Morgause had arrived, striding confidently. She pulled a chair out next to Morgana, and sat, back straight.

"Uncle. Lady." She looked at Gaius.

"My physician," Uther informed her. "Gaius."

"Pleased," Morgause acknowledge the elder man.

"It is my honor, my lady."

Food arrived. Gwen served Morgana and then Morgause, another servant the men. Some light chatter began, much of it Gaius' as he was questioned about recent treating of ailments. Gaius, however, finally turned the conversation to their guest and Morgana perked up.

"I wonder, my lady," he said, setting down his spoon. "If you remember me."

Morgause, who had been taking a sip of wine, set her goblet back on the table. "I think a little. It's been such a long time since I was here."

"Almost thirty years."

"Yes."

Morgana didn't miss the intent way Uther stared at their guest. She hadn't ever really thought much about the king's past except as friend to her father. What had happened to the connection between the Pendragons and de Boises?

"And where have you been all this time? On de Bois lands?" It was Uther who hazarded a quiet question, far different than his usual way of speaking.

"With Uncle Agravaine?" Morgause laughed. "He's morose and a bore. I've found my own way."

"That must be hard," Morgana commented.

"Yes, but what else can I do?"

"But choosing to act as a knight?" Morgana pressed.

Morgause blinked once very slowly. "A knight seeks justice in all forms. Such a thing has become the dedication of my life."

Uther had stiffened, the knife in his hand going rigid.

"And Camelot provides much need for my services."

"You help the poor?" Gaius inquired.

"Whoever needs an advocate."

Uther cleared his throat. "Why had we not heard from you until now?"

Morgause turned her gaze to him. "You know, uncle. I took my education with the priestesses."

Morgana dropped her napkin. "The priestesses?"

"Oh. Not in magic, of course. Never that. Reading, writing, debate, and logic." She dropped her eyes from the king to turn back to her meal with gusto. "I left them, however. They wanted to make me into one of them and I wouldn't have it."

Uther relaxed a little, but his expression remained guarded.

"How long do you intend to be with us?" Morgana asked.

"As long as you'll have me." The woman smiled broadly.

Uther narrowed his eyes.

* * *

The rooms they were assigned were comfortable and the hospitality unparalleled, but Arthur still bathed quickly so he could wander the estate, touring through gardens with stocked ponds, taking note of various buildings on the grounds, and moving back into the house.

The tapestries lining its walls were reminiscent of those in Camelot, but the house itself felt more cozy and peaceful, removed as it was from the intrigues of court. It felt like a home Arthur could see his mother thriving in, and he thought as he walked he sometimes glimpsed her form, writing lessons in the expansive library, cradling dolls in an upstairs room, or even nipping food from the kitchens. He pondered what he had often throughout the years―how different things might have been if she had lived.

Memories of the crystal cave's revelations of his birth rose once more, and he had to push them away with force. He'd convinced himself his father had no intention of murdering his mother, and his own part in the event had been innocent. No matter how his birth had come about, he had entered the world, and he had no choice really but to move forward. But such determination couldn't mollify his regret that he had grown without a motherly hand in his life.

He was glad to find when he arrived at the dining hall that Merlin waited outside, washed and dressed in fresh clothing. The boy had collapsed into the soft bed provided for him shortly after reaching his room. Just before he'd drifted off, Arthur had threatened that if he didn't find him in a presentable state at dinner, he'd see to it Agravaine's stables got a good mucking out.

Arthur grabbed Merlin's blue neckerchief, twisting it from his shoulder to his front. "Didn't you use a mirror?" he chided.

"No. I'm not as vain as you."

Arthur knuckled his head and Merlin harrumphed, running a hand over it.

"I just combed!"

"Come on." Arthur opened the door, and Agravaine and Leon, already in attendance, stood, bowing their heads. Agravaine gestured to the front of the table at the place of honor. Arthur accepted, and when he settled into his seat the others followed his lead.

As the first course was served, Agravaine spoke. "I do not recognize your companions."

"This is Sir Leon," Arthur introduced the man to his left, and then pointed at Merlin next to the knight. "And Merlin. My scribe and sometimes manservant."

"You bring your scribe when you travel the countryside?" Agravaine queried, sipping at a spoonful of soup.

Arthur wanted to say Merlin was far more, a moral support and a friend, but that certainly didn't sound proper. "He makes himself useful in many ways."

"And what brings you into Brechfa?"

Arthur placed his spoon alongside his bowl. "Camelot was targeted recently by magic."

Agravaine tilted his head. "Was it?"

"I thought you might have heard."

"Some trouble is all the rumors have purported."

"We were infiltrated by a troll and goblin, to cause instability."

"Really?" A smile was turning up the corners of Agravaine's mouth. At Arthur's frown it disappeared. "Forgive me, sire. Your father has always claimed he could defeat magic utterly, and I have disagreed."

"Is that why you don't come to Camelot anymore?" It was Merlin who had so rudely spoken out of turn and Arthur glared at him. The boy sank down into his chair.

Agravaine laughed. "I see why you like him. He speaks his mind." He leaned back in his chair. "Why must we pretend? Pretentious lot we are, nobles all." He looked to Arthur. "It is no secret your father and I fell out. We disagreed about his approach to war and his handling of the kingdom. It was best for us both that we see each other as little as possible."

"I'm sorry, uncle."

Agravaine raised his brow. "No apologies necessary. Except perhaps your father's." An awkward two seconds passed before Agravaine laughed. "But again. Why come here? I am not beloved of your father, so why visit?"

"Three men aided me in discovering and defeating the troll and goblin. Sir Leon has been meeting with them. They believe they discovered the man that sent them our way to cause trouble. A former knight of Camelot. I thought you might know of such a man in Brechfa."

Agravaine rubbed at his jaw. "There are two who own lands near, Lord Falk and Lord Valen. Lord Falk is an invalid, but Lord Valen is capable, I suppose. Though he has been thoroughly loyal."

"Even loyal man can be tempted to turn against their king," Leon spoke up.

"Indeed," Agravaine agreed. "Still, I'm afraid that's all I can tell you."

"Thank you, uncle."

Agravaine nodded his head. There was some more discussion, Leon and Merlin and Agravaine talking about current events, but Arthur kept conspicuously silent. He should have been thinking of how to approach Lord Valen without arousing suspicion, but his mind had flitted back to his mother. When the dinner ended, Arthur stood and dismissed his knight and his scribe, but lingered behind.

"Uncle. I wondered if I may ask you a question."

"Of course. Walk with me."

He strode next to Agravaine until they reached a sitting room.

"What is it?"

"I thought perhaps you might tell me about...my mother."

Agravaine's back stiffened and he busied himself with a side table containing goblets and spirits. He held one up to Arthur, who raised a hand to decline. Agravaine turned his attention to filling a chalice for himself. "Does your father not speak of her?"

"Never."

Agravaine lifted the goblet, glittering with a jeweled pattern. "She was an ethereal beauty, golden haired, gentle, enlightening all whose lives she touched. An angel in the presence of base men."

Arthur subconsciously held his breath as he recalled the vision of his mother full of child with him.

"She possessed energy and life and spirit, and all loved her. She was taken from us far too soon." Grief and bitterness burdened his uncle's voice.

Arthur nodded, blinking back unwelcome wetness in his eyes. Did Agravaine know the truth? He debated for a moment relating the secrets of his birth, but no, it would perhaps worsen the relationship between him and his father.

"I have wondered," Arthur spoke quietly, scanning the room. "What she might have been like in this house."

"We worshiped the ground she walked on," Agravaine said. "She had Tristan's heart and mine. All that we could offer her." He laughed to himself. "And she knew it. She used to command us, but even so, she could best us any day in any way."

"I wish I had known her."

Agravaine gulped his wine. "I am sorry I cannot provide more information about the men you seek."

"You've given us a lead," Arthur returned, sensing the man desired to end the painful conversation about his dead sister. "I'm grateful, and I leave you to your rest."

* * *

Merlin had been so comfortable in the soft bed, far better than the one in his small room in Camelot, and the purely functional one in the Buckden stronghold. His nap in the afternoon had been glorious, but now, even resting on feathers from heaven, he couldn't get comfortable. He tossed and turned and finally stared at a candle, lighting it with a thought.

He sat up, a knee raised to prop his elbow on it and rest his chin in his hand. Maybe he was just still put out about Ealdor. He had hoped they'd find Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan quickly with time to spare for traveling to Essetir, but now they had another lord to visit.

A fluttering at the window drew his attention, a brown bird appearing back lit by twinkling stars. Nero flew to the bed, strutting back and forth, neck bobbing. He stopped to peck at Merlin's nightshirt.

"Hey. Stop it."

The bird continued. Merlin sighed, clasping his hands gently around the kestrel, and stifled a gasp. He wasn't in the room anymore. Well, he was, but he was seeing through Nero's eyes again. He flew through the sky, past a bat, diving towards a mouse on the ground, and then abruptly a quick veer to the left, and he perched at another open window. Inside, Arthur's uncle stood with his back to him, but a mirror was still visible, rippling like an agitated lake, reflecting another man's visage.

"What should I do with him?" Agravaine asked.

The long, dark haired man in the mirror ran a hand over a short beard. "Kill him and give him to her."

Agravaine let a growl escape. "This is a bargaining chip, Cenred. You don't just kill your most valuable asset."

"You want to bargain with Uther without Morgause?" Cenred laughed.

"Is that so ludicrous?" Agravaine snapped back. "He would do anything to save his son."

"And she would have your head for interfering with her plans."

Agravaine waved a dismissive hand. "He came to me! It's a sign. She isn't meant to have him. We are. You and me, and the alliance. She's manipulated us long enough."

Cenred sobered. "She is more powerful than all of us. We cannot go against her. Do not use him for yourself."

Agravaine snarled. "Will you tell her?"

Cenred stared. "I have no way to contact her. But you will ruin all if you make him your own tool. Think, Agravaine. Don't let revenge cloud your vision."

Agravaine huffed loudly through his nose. "He leaves tomorrow. He couldn't meet his end in my house anyway. Too many questions."

Cenred grinned. "But a bandit ambush would not be unheard of. And then his corpse given to her as a gift. You will include me in your rewards?"

"As always."

"Good." Cenred pointed. "Looks as if you have a friend behind you."

Agravaine whipped around staring right at Nero. He rushed forward, but the kestrel fled. The vision ceased. Merlin could hardly breathe and his heart was beating to pulse out of his chest, his mind whirling trying to put two and two together. Seeing Agravaine speak with his back turned, his voice had become familiar. Where had he heard it?

His thoughts were dashed away when he was suddenly thrown backwards, thick fingers wrapped around his neck, pushing him down into the soft mattress. He spluttered and reached up, clawing at the vice grip. Two flashing dark eyes flamed down at him.

"A witchfinder's seeker. In your employ. Has the prince broken his own laws?"

Merlin squirmed, fuzzy dots assaulting his vision. His magic screamed inside and burst outwards in a desperate attempt to save his life. Agravaine flew backwards, tumbling into a wall. Merlin coughed roughly, clutching at his throat, and rolled out of the bed.

He hit the floor, and when he managed to get to his knees saw Agravaine shakily on his feet. "You have magic. I thought it might be so."

Merlin raised a hand and fire shot from it, but the man, once a knight only second to his brother, dodged effortlessly. He ducked, ran, slid, and kicked Merlin square in the chest. Nero clawed at Agravaine's eyes, but one swipe had him flapping away.

Merlin extended his hand once more, but it was gripped and snapped back. He would have screamed loud enough to wake Arthur next door if a hand hadn't clamped down across his mouth. A cloth pressed over his nose and he gagged at the sour odor. His eyes rolled back until he met oblivion.


	68. In the Lion's Den

Nero dived at Agravaine's head a second time, claws extended to gouge his eyes. The lord narrowly missed being blinded, throwing his hand in the air just in time to swing at the bird. The kestrel hit a wardrobe door and slid to the floor. It wobbled onto its feet for a couple seconds before flopping over and going still.

Agravaine approached cautiously. He hadn't beheld one of these in years, but he'd understood the danger of its appearance immediately. Blasted things, attracted to all use of magic. The cursed witchfinders had made them so very effective. Agravaine snatched up the bird, strode to the window, and tossed it out.

He backtracked to the boy sprawled out along one side of his bed. He wrung his hands and began to pace next to the unconscious form. He'd recognized the boy when the prince had appeared; he'd been the one with Morgana when she stumbled upon his meeting with the troll and goblin months ago. He'd been aware the boy had a part in interfering with his plans, but assumed he acted out of simple duty to the prince. Now, however...

Agravaine stopped pacing. It couldn't be coincidence that Arthur arrived so soon after he'd captured the men he'd thought intended to betray him. Agravaine raked a hand through his hair. Did Arthur suspect the alliance? He must; why come otherwise? And this boy? Was he a weapon in the prince's charge?

Agravaine jerked his hand out of his hair. Or maybe Uther had done it again, used magic for his own benefit. The two-faced deceiver! Agravaine barely kept himself from punching a vase on the table. He couldn't wake the prince next door.

Agravaine resumed pacing. What to do, what to do. He couldn't contact Cenred again. The man was a coward. He'd never go against Morgause. And Odin would come flying out of his castle and galloping across Camelot's lands demanding to kill the prince himself. Alined would be careful, but he'd already failed at his chance to take down both king and prince and would likely advocate staying out until Morgause won the kingdom for him.

No, Agravaine was on his own. This was his lucky chance...no, his _destiny_. Arthur Pendragon had come right to him. He simply had to figure out the best use of him. But first things first.

Agravaine opened the bedroom door, then shut it quietly, seeking out his watchmen. He'd suss out the facts about the sorcerer first, and he knew just how to do it. He smiled. His caged birds were finally about to sing.

* * *

Wind whipped round and round, a singular tempest in a column unobserved in the dead of night. It dissipated, revealing a painfully thin figure bent over almost double. Each time the whirlwind was more difficult to conjure. Nimueh wasn't as young as she used to be.

The former high priestess sent her sight out in all directions, making sure she was alone. She didn't expect anyone to wander the hills during devil's hour, but caution was paramount. When she'd assured the way was clear, she crossed the short distance to a standing stone, a white slab elaborately etched with a fruitful vine along which words had been carved describing the character and deeds of the honored dead.

Nimueh placed a gentle hand on the stone. What she meant to do, she'd done before, even though she hated it. The one she was about to call forth had paid his dues to the world and then some. His rest should have been undisturbed and yet, maybe he would welcome a chance to expose the tyrant Uther Pendragon had become. If anyone deserved vengeance beside herself, it was the corpse underneath the stone.

Nimueh reached into the pouch at her waist, withdrawing a golden coin. So unassuming, but in truth, worth more than the wealth of all Albion. It was one of only three left since the destruction of the priestesses. Morgause's plan required two. Nimueh clutched it tightly for a moment. This had better work and not waste such a precious resource. She knelt down and began to chant, pressing the coin into the ground.

The earth trembled, the soil shifted, and Nimueh scooted away as the coin sank into churning dirt. A mound grew and a hand burst forth, not skeletal, but fleshly and hungry for direction. She caught her breath, tossed back her braids, and reached out to grasp it with her own thin fingers.

"Welcome back," she whispered.

* * *

Morgana shot up in bed, messy curls framing her face as she gasped for breath. She pressed fingertips to both sides of her temple, teeth chattering at the cold slicing through her, ears buzzing so she couldn't hear. A wave of nausea burned up her throat and some time passed as she breathed through the sensation. She clutched her sheets to her breast as she regained equilibrium.

Morgana rubbed at her abdomen, the place where her magic always seemed concentrated. It pulsed and ached. She stared into the dark of her room and fumbled to check the bracelet still encircled her wrist. She hadn't seen anything, but the magic had been so strong. She hadn't felt anything like it before.

She attempted to lay back and recapture sleep, but the room felt enclosed and stuffy. She rose, donned a discrete nightgown, and left her room. She soon stood before a window she often frequented when her mind needed clearing. It provided a refreshing view of dense forest, and the chill breeze wafting through when she propped the window open felt like a haven. She breathed deeply as she observed the moon lazily gazing on her with a half-lidded eye.

"My lady? Are you well?"

Morgana started, turned, and stammered. "I...just had trouble sleeping...Lady Morgause."

"Please don't call me by that title. We are equals." The woman knight smiled as broadly as she had after her win and leaned her shoulder next to the window, staring out. Morgana noted her simple dress, an unadorned deep blue one might find in a peasant's home if not for the tailored style that accentuated her curves. She also wondered at the sad and distant look in the woman's eyes.

"Do you truly intend to keep wandering Camelot as a knight?"

Morgause huffed a breath through her nose. "Until circumstances are put to rights, it's what I must do." She turned her gaze to Morgana. "I do hope for peace some day. A restoration of what Camelot used to be."

"Used to be?"

"A kingdom free of fear."

Morgana's ran her fingertips subconsciously over her bracelet.

"Did Uther give you that?" Morgause gestured with one finger at her wrist.

"No. Not him." Morgana curled her fingers away from the bracelet, feeling exposed.

"I thought perhaps it found its way into his possession after the Massacre."

"Massacre?"

Morgana turned away, eyes fixed on the half moon. "The Blessed Massacre during the purge. On a Samhain night, the high priestesses were slain, their corpses left to rot in their great courtyard."

"I didn't know."

"I'm not surprised. I doubt Uther Pendragon includes the history of the purge in your studies."

"That's true," Morgana consented. "But I've spent much time reading court records and I never heard of this."

"I suppose all things connected to magic have been destroyed. Except that bracelet on your wrist apparently." Morgause looked at her again. "What you wear would have been owned by a mighty seer. To see what might come is a great gift, but a hard one. Without control, the visions can be a torment. The bracelet allowed for a reprieve from future predictions."

"A friend gave it to me," Morgana spoke carefully. "I didn't know what it was."

Morgause smiled. "It doesn't matter now, does it? There is no one alive to use it."

Morgana's heartbeat quickened and she placed a characteristic hand to her neck. "You knew the high priestesses."

"I was sent to them when I was eight."

"When did you leave?"

"Sometime later." Her jaw had tightened and Morgana didn't press by asking more, sensing the line of discussion was uncomfortable. Had being educated by the priestesses been so traumatic? Or maybe...

"Are you looking for your sister?" Morgana blurted out.

Morgause cocked her head and then grinned. "What kind?"

"I...mean...a sibling."

"The high priestesses called each other 'sister' and their charges as well."

"Oh, I didn't mean that."

"You mean a daughter of my father and mother."

Morgana nodded slowly, feeling stupid for even asking.

"I was their only child."

"I'm sorry. I just thought...maybe..." Morgana's words caught in her throat at Morgause's fierce gaze. "I didn't mean offense."

"Do you seek justice?" the woman asked abruptly.

"What do you mean?"

"Does it concern you, or are you like the king?"

"I don't agree with the king on everything. He knows this."

"So when a hapless soul's neck is crushed to the block, does fire surge through your veins?"

Images of Mordred passed through Morgana's mind. She clenched her jaw. "The innocent shouldn't suffer. I've always believed that."

"Even those who practice magic?"

Morgana stared into the woman's eyes. It seemed she stood on a precipice and her answer would determine if she maintained her balance or fell. So, she stalled and said nothing.

Morgause raised her chin. "I understand. You can't answer aloud. But I see the truth in you. You cannot suffer injustice any more than I can. Uther does not deserve to rule."

Morgana's heart beat against her ribcage in warning. "Don't speak like this."

"I must hide in the shadows, then? What good has that ever done?" Morgause pointed out the window at the starry expanse. "The priestesses used to tell how the sun and moon wrestle to dominate the earth. They are locked in an eternal battle neither can win. Not even day and night are a compromise, for at times the moon blots out the sun, yet its victories are short lived. But a day will come when the moon escapes her bonds. Blood red she will turn, and in her rage, cast the sun from its course and earth will be hers. We do not fear that day for the moon is not a harsh mistress like the blazing sun. She is beauty and benevolence, and her reign will be blessed."

Morgana stared at Morgause, transfixed.

"Uther is Camelot's sun. He has scoured the land with searing heat, but a moon could relieve us of his cruelty."

Morgana found her voice and whispered hoarsely. "Arthur will one day rule."

Morgause grunted. "Prince Arthur is his father's son, is he not?"

Morgana thought back to Mordred. Arthur had helped him escape, but he hadn't accepted the Druid's magic and had wounded him in the first place. She would never be able to tell him who she truly was.

"As I thought," Morgause concluded. She sighed. "It's such a pity there is none more worthy in line for the throne." She bowed her head. "Forgive me if I have been too free. My heart often speaks more than my head."

Morgause wandered away without a backwards glance, and Morgana watched her depart. She agreed with the woman far more than was safe to admit.

* * *

Gwaine had been relieved and altogether grateful when the lord's thugs unchained him. Percival they kept locked at the ankles, but he supposed the man's size had something to do with it. After assessing his friend, Gwaine explored the edges of the room by touch and discovered a water bucket and a ladle. He drank as a parched man in a desert, then hauled the precious liquid to Percival who did the same. Percival protested when Gwaine tore his own shirt to wrap around his friend's chest and ankle to stabilize any breaks.

Gwaine finally sank down next to Percival, dipped the ladle once more, and gingerly cleansed the crusted blood obscuring his right eye. Slowly, painfully, he blinked. He poured the rest of the water over his head and leaned back against the wall.

"I'm sorry," he apologized.

"You didn't think we'd get caught." Percival's reply was quiet, but full of conviction.

"You think he'll kill us?"

"I would."

Gwaine chuckled at the dark humor. "Thanks for the comfort, mate."

"He has much to lose."

Gwaine rubbed at his wet beard. Way too much. His lands for a start, but that was nothing compared to his life.

A jangling of keys in a lock drew Gwaine's attention. He slowly stood. "This is our chance," he hissed.

"Gwaine―"

"We'll get out and find Elyan." The door cracked. Gwaine rushed, right shoulder barreling into the wood. It didn't budge, and he bounced back as if he'd hit solid stone. He curled up, moaning at pain radiating down his shoulder. The door opened farther and another body was tossed in.

"Elyan!" Percival cried out. He crawled on his knees as far as able and looked the young man over. His facial wounds were grotesque, and he shook uncontrollably. Gwaine rolled over and pulled himself up, taking in what Percival had already seen. His head snapped to the door.

"He knows nothing! He's not worth this."

The thug still standing in the doorway beckoned with one finger. Gwaine swallowed. His turn, huh? He pushed himself to his feet.

"Make me."

A struggle ensued, and the thug won, which Gwaine pretty much figured would happen, but it wasn't in him to be led like a lamb to slaughter. He was dragged down a short corridor, three rooms on his left and two on his right. He was shoved into the far one on the right and his feet kicked out from under him so the meaty thug's hands could pin him down. The lord appeared in his vision, crouched down to peer into Gwaine's eyes.

"Your friend is of no more use to me. I assume you will be more forthcoming."

Gwaine, pleased he'd recently wet his mouth again, gathered all the spit he could and ejected his answer. He'd anticipated the backhand. Still hurt, though.

"You tracked me down," the lord lectured after wiping his face with a sleeve. "I wondered why. You had no reason to seek the one who sent you Camelot's way. Why chance breaking your exile? I didn't understand...until now. I have uncovered your game."

Gwaine was hauled up from his stomach to his knees, the lord's lackey gripping the back of his neck to keep him in place. Gwaine blanched, confusion crossing his features at the lad bound across from him, lashed hand and foot to a chair.

"Merlin," he breathed out.

Lord Agravaine had wandered over to the chair and lifted the boy's chin. Merlin didn't react, his eyes remaining closed, but Gwaine noted his chest rose and fell. "So you do know him. He had a part to play in the defeat of my troll, I hear, but I was unaware of his true nature." Merlin's head dropped when Agravaine let go.

"What have you done to him?" Gwaine demanded.

"Self defense. He's dangerous."

"He's a boy."

Agravaine's eyes flashed at Gwaine. "Stop the pretense! I know the truth. He's a sorcerer."

Gwaine stared, thinking the man must be mad. "What?"

"The prince brought him here to use against me, didn't he? Were you the ones sent ahead to clear the way for the prince? I suppose he was surprised when you failed. He did look out of sorts when he arrived."

Gwaine tried to follow the man's nonsensical accusations. "Prince Arthur's here?"

Agravaine gestured at the thug who mercilessly pinched the skin at the back of Gwaine's neck, eliciting a sharp gasp. "I want the truth. What is the prince's plan? How much does he know?"

Gwaine rolled his shoulders and caught his breath before responding. "Nothing."

Agravaine lifted one of Merlin's fingers off the armrest of the chair. "Do you know how to defeat a sorcerer?"

"He's not a sorcerer."

Agravaine snorted. "I have my own eyes as evidence against your lie."

Gwaine narrowed his eyes. What was this man playing at? _Arthur! If you are here, get your arse moving!_

"A sorcerer's power resides in a body as weak as ours. You simply need remove their will to fight back and you can do whatever you like." Agravaine held the finger with one hand, then braced it with the other.

"No!" Gwaine shouted, suddenly understanding. "Stop!" The audible snap of the finger breaking ignited Gwaine's rage. He tried to leap to his feet and was crushed back to the ground.

"If you wish your sorcerer to come to no harm, tell me what the prince knows and how he plans to use this tool of his."

Gwaine cringed at another break. "There are no plans! He didn't know we came here!"

"Ah. But you see, he taunted me, saying he searched for three men who'd aided him."

Gwaine's head was yanked up by his hair and his face turned to the chair where Agravaine cradled another of Merlin's fingers. "Don't."

"Tell me the truth."

"We only told a knight we'd thought we found the man who sent the troll and goblin."

"Which knight?"

Gwaine bared his teeth. Agravaine clutched at Merlin's finger. "Leon." Gwaine bowed his head. "Sir Leon."

Agravaine studied him for a long time before releasing Merlin's finger. "And what of this sorcerer? How does the prince use him?"

"I...he's only a boy."

Agravaine angrily gripped Merlin's finger again.

"Stop! He's nothing. Prince Arthur's serving boy, that's all." Gwaine trembled, tears gracing his eyes. He held up his own hands, fingers splayed. "I'm the one who told Elyan and Percival to come. It's my fault. Hurt me, not him."

Agravaine let go Merlin's finger. "Take him back," he addressed the lackey. "Let him think on this." He met Gwaine's blurry eyed gaze. "I can do much worse to this boy, I swear it."

* * *

Arthur groaned when a loud knock sounded on his door. " _Mer_ lin, if that's you, I'm going to drown you in bathwater." He rolled over when the knock hammered once more, growling but managing to slip out of bed. He cracked the door, mouth open to lambaste his scribe, but beheld one of Agravaine's watchmen. Arthur glanced down at his bare chest. Great.

"What is it?"

"Lord Agravaine must speak with you."

Arthur smoothed his mussed hair and glanced at the dark window. "Now?"

"It's urgent, sire."

Arthur nodded, wondering if perhaps news had come about the men he sought. He grabbed the nightshirt he'd discarded and slipped it back on. "Lead the way."

They traversed a series of halls, then descended a flight of stairs. The watchman opened a door Arthur recognized as belonging to his uncle's study room. When he stepped inside, Agravaine was sitting behind his desk. Another watchman stood next to it. A chair had been set in front of the desk.

"Ah. Arthur. Come sit."

Arthur approached, glancing at the stoic watchman and wondering at his uncle's expression. It _seemed_ friendly, but warning bells sounded in his mind. Alerted, he rested his hands along the top of the chair. "I prefer to stand, uncle."

Agravaine acquiesced with a slight dip of his head. "Your father has always been a selfish man."

Arthur crinkled an eyebrow, the topic and the direct insult wholly unexpected.

"And I suppose that is a quality he partly needed to conquer Camelot. The adoration of his followers spurred him to illustrious deeds. My older brother idolized him and would have followed him to hell. Even I was turned by his ability to draw people to his cause." Agravaine's expression went rigid. "But then he became king. He thought even more of himself and his desires. He sent his soldiers out alone and denied their requests for more men, keeping most of his army close to his capital, fearing another would take what he had coveted. He took a wife and bent her to his will, using her body to sate his lust."

Arthur's heart pounded and his cheeks flushed. "Be careful how you speak of the king, uncle," he warned.

Agravaine ignored him. "The one thing Uther couldn't obtain no matter how he tried was an heir. How desperately he craved one! He turned to sorcery. I assume you know this." Arthur's hands balled and Agravaine nodded. "He traded the life of an innocent woman for a continuing dynasty."

"My father didn't know my mother would die," Arthur defended.

"That _you_ would kill your mother! _You_! She would never have borne a child if she hadn't been forced to, but Uther couldn't leave it alone."

Arthur's breath ached in his chest as the source of the conflict between his father and uncle came to light. "I shouldn't have come here. I will take my leave in the morning."

As he turned to retreat, Agravaine stood and shouted. "You're just like him, _Pendragon_! Your father's son, through and through. You judge according to law, but break it for your own purposes. How long has your sorcerer served you? What weapon has Uther fashioned?"

Arthur whirled back. "No sorcerer serves me."

Agravaine cackled snidely. "Guile doesn't suit you, _prince_. I have your sorcerer. He cannot come to your defense."

Arthur stared dumbly.

Agravaine snickered loudly. "Such a performance. And all along you've known."

Arthur, even though thoroughly confused, recognized treason and his own precarious position. He cautiously probed his uncle's words. "And what do I know?"

"Games," Agravaine snorted. "Pretend and deadly lies. You're as much Uther's tool as the sorcerer."

Arthur met his uncle's wild eyes, forcing himself to remain calm and reason with the man. "My father is not a perfect man. He has done things he shouldn't have, but he is my father and your king. He deserves our loyalty."

" _Deserves_ ," Agravaine spoke sarcastically. "Did my sister _deserve_ death?"

Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat. "As much as I wish for things to be different, they aren't."

Agravaine abruptly left his desk, rounding it to close the distance and grip Arthur's nightshirt at the shoulder. "Tell me why you came here with the sorcerer?"

"I have no sorcerer," Arthur swore.

"Your scribe is in my possession."

"Merlin?"

"You cannot use him against me."

Arthur swiped a hand up to break Agravaine's hold and stepped back, eyes flashing to the watchman who moved away from the desk as he sensed trouble. "Merlin is no sorcerer."

"So said your accomplice."

Arthur raised both his hands, palms displayed, thinking to placate a madman. "Uncle, there is no plot here. Merlin is my scribe. That's all."

Agravaine sighed. "I was just talking to one of your hirelings about how to destroy sorcerers." He returned to the desk, opened a drawer, and withdrew a short, thin knife. "You prohibit their ability to incant spells. Your father ordered such done many a time in the beginning, before the wholesale slaughter." Agravaine moved the knife back and forth as if slicing something. "You cut out the tongue. It's fairly effective. Few sorcerers can incant by thought alone."

Arthur's heart leaped into his throat. "Where is Merlin?" he demanded.

"Secure."

"What have you done to him?"

Agravaine only grinned. Arthur rushed him, fists pummeling as he rammed into him. He only managed two hard punches to the face before the watchman by the desk and the one who had remained in the doorway wrenched him away.

"I'll have your head!" Arthur screamed.

Agravaine struggled to his feet, a shaky hand braced on his desk. He wiped blood from his nose onto the back of his hand. "Get him out of here! Lock him in the empty cell."

Arthur fought against the men's iron grips. "Merlin's not a sorcerer! He's not a sorcerer!" He was cuffed about the head and the ensuing grogginess curtailed his resistance. He slumped in the men's hold.

* * *

Agravaine rummaged in another desk drawer until he found a handkerchief he pressed to his nose. The boy certainly inherited his father's furor and strength. He frowned as he leaned down to retrieve the knife he'd dropped in the assault. He stared at it. It would work perfectly. He should do it tonight. The boy had shown himself quite skilled. He should cut off his ability to incant now and...

The knife clattered to the desk as Agravaine replayed his initial encounter with the sorcerer. He left his study, practically running down the corridors until he barreled into the library. He dashed to his selection of ancient books, tomes of criminal superstition. He grasped one he knew too well, flipping through its pages to the correct entry. He read and read again. What if...

He slammed the book shut, shoved it back onto the shelf, then rushed to a desk with parchment and ink already laid out and scratched out an order. He bolted for the door. He shook the sleepy servant assigned to him at night leaning against the wall outside his door.

"My lord," the elderly man greeted wearily.

Agravaine shoved the folded parchment into his hands. "Go to Delvin. Wake him if you must. Tell him I need this within the hour." The servant nodded too slowly for the lord. "Go or I'll take a lash to you!" The servant jumped and scurried down the hall as fast as his feet could carry him.


	69. Darkening Horizon

Arthur regained his strength just as the men pulling him along reached an outlying building he had seen while wandering de Bois lands but not entered. A door was pulled opened and Arthur wrenched away, meaning to flee. He hadn't counted on another watchman already on guard at the building standing in his way. All three descended upon him and although he kicked and struggled, he was no match for three at once.

He was dragged inside and into the first room off a short corridor. The watchmen roughly tossed him in, then shut the door, locking it. Arthur rushed it, pushing and shoving to no avail. The wood was thick and solid. He idly wondered what this building had been before his uncle turned it into a prison. The room he occupied was made of stone and empty save for a bucket in the corner. Sudden panic tore through him followed by a wave of nausea. The last time he'd been thrown in a cell, it had ended with his back torn to shreds. What this time? Surely his uncle wouldn't dare _torture_ him?

Arthur yanked an agitated hand through his hair. He knew nothing of the man! He had no idea _what_ he might do, especially after that confusing conversation accusing him of hidden plots. And Merlin a sorcerer? Whatever gave his uncle that idea?

Thinking of Merlin increased Arthur's rage, and with nothing else productive to do, he banged hard on the door, shouting. Tears tracked down his cheeks and he wiped at them, embarrassed even when no one could see him. His thoughts had filled with Merlin in pain, clutching at his mouth, gone forcibly mute. He'd kill Agravaine. He swore it. He thumped the door over and over, and almost jumped when a muted voice replied.

"Merlin?"

Arthur paused in his assault, searching the right side wall. The voice had come from over there instead of the door.

"Merlin?" the voice repeated. "Are you all right, lad?"

Arthur found the source―a tiny vent at the top of the wall that connected this room to the next, meant to prevent suffocation from lack of air circulation. Someone was next door.

"Stupid. Yeah, you're not all right. But can you hear me?"

Arthur placed the voice. He walked underneath the vent and called up. "Gwaine!"

"Arthur?"

What in heavens name was Gwaine doing here? Wasn't he supposed to be searching for the man who... Arthur's heart sank. The troll and the goblin. The man in the cloak. A former knight. His uncle.

Arthur slammed a fist into the wall, earning a jolt of pain that had him gasping. He'd been a complete and utter imbecile! He'd walked right into a trap, right up to the man who hated his father so much he hadn't seen him in twenty-three years.

"Arthur?" Gwaine asked again. "How could you let him capture you?"

The chastising earned Arthur's immediate ire. "I was coming to save you!" he snapped. "And Percival and Elyan."

"How did you know we were here?"

"I didn't," Arthur groaned, now turning his back to the wall and nursing his right hand in his left palm. "I thought my uncle could give me an idea where you were."

"Leon told you," Gwaine said.

"Yes."

"Who's with you?"

Arthur clenched his teeth.

"How many?"

He'd traveled too light, like they'd still been intending to head to Ealdor, just him and Merlin. "Leon and Merlin."

"That's all?"

"Yes."

There was some cursing, then indistinct mumbling. Arthur grit his teeth. It wasn't like he'd known his uncle would turn out to be a vengeful madman.

"Gwaine?"

"What?" the reply was snappish, angry.

"You've seen Merlin?"

A pause and then a softer tone. "Yeah."

"Where is he? How is he?"

A longer pause. Arthur braced himself against the wall, the image of Merlin trying to talk and failing disturbing him once more.

"Agravaine broke two of his fingers. He wanted me to tell him why you'd come and what plan you had and how you were going to use Merlin. He said he was a sorcerer...He isn't, is he?"

Arthur snorted. "That's ridiculous." But his mother _had_ studied magic. What if she had taught him some spells? What if... No! Merlin swore to him his mother hadn't done so. Merlin wouldn't lie to him.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I think your uncle's deranged."

 _That_ was obvious. "Gwaine. What else? How else did he hurt Merlin?"

"Just his fingers...I think. He was unconscious. He didn't feel it, but..."

"He will when he wakes."

Gwaine didn't respond.

Arthur slid down the wall. Agravaine could have cut out Merlin's tongue before breaking the fingers. Or even after. Either way, Merlin was in his uncle's hands, an uncle whose mind had concocted some plot to him, probably assuming he'd figured out he was responsible for the attempted take over of Camelot. "Where are Elyan and Percival?"

"Next door to me," Gwaine responded. "Elyan's in a bad way. Percival's hurt. I'm all right."

"Gwaine, I need to know everything you know _now_."

* * *

Merlin's head rocked back and forth, and his body rose and fell as he floated on choppy ocean waves. He'd never been to the ocean until now. He'd imagined it, though, a place like a huge lake with wild waves. Wait...he hadn't been traveling to the ocean. He'd been riding with Arthur or Leon or...

His vision rippled, and he squinted. Maybe he was under the water in the ocean? He could barely see. He blinked long and hard. When he opened his eyes again they'd cleared marginally, and he made out a man standing over him. His neck ached, and his back, and he gasped, then tears filled his eyes. Two fingers on his right hand _hurt_.

"Sorcerer. Can you hear me?"

The face above him morphed as words ushered from it. Merlin rolled his neck to the right and stared downward at his arm. He was tied to something, and two of his fingers were splinted. When had he hurt them?

"Forgive me, but I could not allow you to perform magic...yet."

Merlin's heart stuttered. His magic! It was present but distant, as if he could barely reach it.

"It was necessary to dampen it for a time. I have to protect myself, you understand, until I know for sure."

Merlin found his voice. "Know...what?" He sounded weak and hoarse to his ears.

"Who you are."

"Merlin," he replied automatically.

"I suspect you are more." The voice sounded eager. "You used magic without words. Strong magic, with just thoughts. You are powerful."

Was he? Oh, yes, he was. Most powerful warlock in the world or something like that. Though he never seemed to feel like it. In fact, such a thing was a continual source of frustration. He always found himself in positions like this. Tied up, captured...

Captured. Nero and Arthur's uncle and...Merlin widened his eyes. Agravaine. He was the one speaking, who had attacked him in his room. "You...you sent the troll."

"A mistake to trust such a creature. An embarrassing failure, but it seems my plans were nothing compared to yours."

"Plans?"

"Tell me. Does the prince know you're a sorcerer?"

Merlin answered through habit. "Not a sorcerer."

"Ah. We both know that's a lie. You used it against me. No games, please."

Oh. Yeah. He did, didn't he? Merlin tried to push through his muddled mind. "You meant to kill me."

"Inconsequential. I need to know if the prince knows who you are."

"Can't tell him."

"Then, he doesn't?" the voice grew even more excited.

"Won't tell him. Must...fulfill destiny."

The face smiled, twisted in his hazy vision. "You are him, aren't you? Are you Emrys? Tell me!"

Emrys. He wasn't called that much but felt protective of the appellation. "Emrys?"

"Herald of the new Druidic age. You are Emrys, yes?"

"No...Just Merlin."

"Bah!" the voice grumbled. "Forgive me, but this must be done."

Pain shot from Merlin's fingers, radiating up his arm. He gasped and tears welled up once more. He looked down. Agravaine had gripped his fingers and squeezed.

"Are you Emrys?"

"Yes, yes! The Druids call me Emrys!" The fingers were released. Merlin's head pitched back along the back of the chair as he tried to breathe.

A cloth brushed his face, then pressed to his nose. He balked, and tried to push away, but a hand held his neck fast. The sour odor he'd inhaled before sent him back into oblivion.

* * *

Agravaine stared down at the unconscious boy. Delvin's concoction had done the trick, keeping the sorcerer lucid enough to answer questions, but denying his link to magic. Agravaine could hardly believe his luck. Arthur coming to him freely, now the mythical Emrys in his grasp? Agravaine paced, thinking. He'd studied the prophecies in his forbidden library when Druids Morgause consorted with began to insist Emrys had come to Camelot. He'd reported back all he'd found, ancient stories and hopes pinned on this Emrys, a powerful sorcerer meant to bring the dawning of an age of the rule of magic.

Or some stories said. Others just extolled his might. Emrys could do magic with thought alone. This boy had done it. A boy! They had thought a man, been on the lookout for him, and all along he was a child. But that was even better. He could be molded, controlled. Morgause had hoped to sway Emrys to their side if he indeed had arrived.

But Morgause was in Camelot, clearing the way for the alliance. She did not know of Emrys. Agravaine's mouth turned upward in mirth. When his niece had appeared four years ago, he'd been encouraged―she promised to regain the rightful place of the house of de Bois―but increasingly she spoke only of the revival of the high priestesses. She'd wrested complete leadership of the alliance, and although she'd agreed to divide Camelot between them, he had long worried a rebuilt Isle of the Blessed meant them all enslaved to a sisterhood of sorceresses. They would never be free of her.

Unless... Agravaine stopped pacing and looked at the boy. He had read it all wrong. Arthur had come only by happenstance, at least for his part, searching as he'd said for the three missing men. Coincidence for him, but not for Agravaine. This was a gift from the gods, the prince and the great Emrys. He could use both to rebuild the old Camelot of glory, take back from the Pendragons what others had earned for them. It was his destiny to parade through Camelot's gates once again, this time as its savior.

* * *

Leon woke early as was his habit. He'd knocked at Arthur's door to find him out, and Merlin's room was unoccupied as well. No breakfast had yet been sent up, so he assumed they'd probably gone off to check the horses for their continuing journey. He passed servants scurrying around the manor house, nodding at them as he passed, and strode outside to the stables. Their horses were still there, but not the prince or his scribe.

Leon took a moment to greet his horse, rub her muzzle, offer her some new grain. When he exited, three of Lord Agravaine's watchmen had formed a semi-circle at the door.

"Good morning," he greeted. They didn't nod or acknowledge him. "I was looking for Prince Arthur."

One beckoned him. "You will follow us to him."

The hackles on Leon's neck rose. Something was wrong. He stepped back instead of forwards. "You know where he is?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Nearby."

Leon glanced at the other two watchmen, then dove forward, throwing himself at the first and cursing himself for not strapping on his sword. He'd been well trained, taking out the first with an unexpected punch to the head and spinning him into the oncoming two. Another went down with a kick to a groin and a swipe under his legs. He swung a fist into the gut of the third. He used their momentary immobility to run away.

He wasn't expecting the arrow that pierced his left shoulder blade. He cried out, stumbled, and fell to one knee. He pushed himself up. Taking one step, two, three, throwing himself behind a large barn. He heard rustling and sidled as quickly as he could alongside the wooden wall, meaning to turn the corner at its end and backtrack the way he'd come to throw them off.

He heard grunting and shouting and several thumps. He peeked around the corner and jumped out of his skin to find a man in his way. "Lancelot?"

The former knight clutched at a bruising jaw. Leon noted the three men not too far from him, unconscious on the ground.

"Dead?"

"I'm not sure." He glanced at Leon's shoulder and the knight felt pain flare up now that danger had passed. "But we'll need to hide them and see to that wound."

As Lancelot moved towards the men, Leon grasped his arm. "Why are you here?" he groaned out against the pain.

"I've been following Arthur."

"All the time?"

"When he leaves the citadel."

Leon stared at him. "You won't break your vow to him."

Lancelot bowed his head. "I did once. Left him to suffer an attack on his throne alone."

"You can't blame yourself for that."

"Easier to say than do. Come on. You're getting paler than a sheet. Let's get those bodies hidden away, then I need to know what's going on."

* * *

Morgana sat primly in her high-backed chair next to Uther. She'd rarely attended court over the years, unwilling to suffer its fakery and boot-licking, not to mention avoiding Uther's judgments that only heightened the conflict between them. But ever since Mordred, she had elected to attend.

She smoothed out a wrinkle on her Tyrian purple dress and glanced behind her to the left. Gwen made to step forward, but Morgana held up a hand to keep her stationary. She'd only meant to confirm her maidservant was there. The influx of bounties on magic users had been troublesome for Uther. More often than not the bounty hunters were confirmed to lie, accusing innocents they hauled off the street for easy coin. Uther had been forced to announce a harsh penalty against bounty hunters that were found fraudulent. That reduced the number that appeared on their doorstep exponentially.

But today, a bounty hunter would be heard, and his captive seemed most likely to be an actual sorcerer. When the hunter appeared before the throne, the accused stood behind him, secured by Camelot's guards. He was older, long curly hair dusted with gray. He wore a simple robe and kept his head bowed.

"Of what do you accuse this man?" Uther asked.

The bounty hunter, young and clean shaven, replied in a businesslike manner. "He sold magical charms, my lord. I have brought them as evidence." A bag was turned over by a guard, a plethora of small charms composed of feathers, shells, or quartz falling to the floor. The guard picked one up and handed it to Uther to examine.

"And they work?" Uther asked.

"I have witnesses who claim they do. They wait outside."

"Call them."

Morgana wiggled in her seat. She had seen charms herself deftly handed between persons in the market and some secreted next to sick children in the poorer parts of the lower town. She would never have thought to make an issue of it. They were harmless trinkets intended to ward off evil or disease. A man shouldn't be executed over them. The witnesses would surely claim they worked, but couldn't such have been happenstance and not magic? She could argue this.

Heart pounding, Morgana opened her mouth to speak, but her objection was arrested when the doors slammed open, admitting not the witnesses, but a tall knight striding forward in a tarnished suit of armor.

Uther stood up in confusion. "What is the meaning of this?"

The knight marched to within a couple meters of the throne, ripped off his gauntlet, and threw it at Uther's feet.

Uther glanced from the gauntlet to the knight, eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" The knight's helmet provided no possibility of identification except for a pair of dull brown eyes.

"Does it matter?" Morgause, clothed in flowing de Bois blue, strode the length of the room, coming to a stop next to the knight. "A challenge of single combat has been issued. Does the great King Uther accept or is he named coward?"

" _I_ accept the challenge!" a knight of Camelot called out, stepping towards the gauntlet.

"Ah. So the king lets others take up his challenges. So little has changed."

The knight reached down for the gauntlet, but his hand was stayed when Uther's fingers wrapped around his wrist. "Step back," he ordered. The knight retreated, but Uther didn't touch the gauntlet.

Morgause passed the waiting knight and stood before Uther, straight-backed and tall, eyes locked on the king. "My father was loyal to you, your best soldier and highest confidant. He believed in you and your cause, and you murdered him for it!"

Uther's eyes widened and he spat out angrily, "You go too far."

"We challenge you to single combat for the death of Tristan de Bois!" The knight didn't react to Morgause's declaration, simply stood still, a rusty collection of metal towering behind her.

"Your furor is misplaced," Uther said. Was that pleading in his tone? Morgana had never heard such in his voice before. "Your father died in a skirmish with our enemies. All here know that. He was not murdered."

"Must a murderer use his own hand?" Morgause shot back, her own gaze roving over the courtiers. "Or can he arrange circumstances so as to appear clean?"

"You will stop this," Uther threatened, the warning a low growl.

"You sent my father to fight your battle and when he begged for reinforcements, you refused from the safety of your citadel. He fell, his wounded body violated, his head cut off and displayed on a pike, a message to those who fought for Uther Pendragon."

Morgana's breath caught in her lungs. She hadn't ever known such about Tristan de Bois' death. She had only heard he was a man of bravery and honor.

Uther stepped back to his throne. "His death grieved us all. I would have prevented it if I could."

Morgause laughed, a deep, disbelieving sound. "You wanted what he had, and when he fell you took it."

Uther rushed forward. Morgause crouched, fists raised, smirking. "Your true colors, uncle."

Uther halted before her, shaking in rage.

Morgana was close enough to hear Morgause's whisper as she lowered her voice. "If you do not accept, I swear your shame will be heralded throughout this kingdom."

Uther stared at her for a long time, his back to Morgana trembling. He leaned over, clasping the gauntlet, and holding it up for all to see. "So be it," he spoke softly, then louder for all to hear. "If you would be so foolish as to kill your champion for no reason, I oblige you."

Morgause nodded. When she left, Uther dismissed the court to the consternation of the bounty hunter who was told to wait until the next day to be heard. Morgana was ushered out as well when Uther refused to talk to her. She looked back to see him with his elbow on the armrest of his throne, his head cradled in one hand.

* * *

Arthur squirmed, panic rushing acidic bile into his throat and tightening his chest. A shadowed figure approached, and he flailed harder, fighting against the arms holding him down. A knife flashed silver. His head was immobilized. He bit down hard, but the knife slid in between his lips, slashing them. He ignored the liquid seeping down his chin, clenching harder. The knife jammed against his teeth, prying them apart. His chin was clamped down the moment he opened it, and the knife sliced its prey. He screamed, but swallowed blood. He was choking, drowning. He couldn't breathe...

"Arthur!"

Gwaine's cry woke the prince whose eyelids shot open. He gasped for breath and found his lungs clear. He touched his mouth. He was unharmed. Just a dream.

"Arthur?"

"I'm fine."

"You didn't sound it," the muffled voice disagreed. "You cried out."

"A dream."

"...Had a few of those myself over the years. It's okay, mate."

Arthur let out a soft laughing breath. Mate. He'd only known Gwaine for a short few days and already he was called "mate." He liked it. Arthur sat up against the wall. "You know the time?"

"Don't know. No windows."

Arthur sighed. It felt like hours, but who really knew? Gwaine had related how he and Elyan and Percival had sought out the man who'd set the troll, and them, on Camelot. They found witnesses in the tavern who recognized their description as a visitor from Brechfa. Rich, they said. A lord. They sneaked back into Camelot, traversing Brechfa and checking out the lords. Elyan had identified Agravaine the minute he saw him. Elyan argued they should send for Arthur, but Gwaine wanted proof, something they could bring back so Arthur would have evidence to present to his father. Turned out Agravaine's property was far more guarded than they thought.

Arthur rubbed a hand over his face. He'd been a fool coming here. He'd been so eager to see where his mother grew, so taken with meeting someone who could tell him about her, he'd been wholly deceived by the act. It never occurred to him his uncle would wish his own nephew harm.

Arthur pressed his pointer fingers against his eyelids, the nightmare still fresh in his mind. How terrifying it would be to have one's tongue removed. If Agravaine had done that to Merlin... _And my father._ Agravaine claimed his father had cut out the tongues of sorcerers at the beginning of the purge. He couldn't verify such. He'd been so small then, an infant, a toddler. What if it were true?

To protect Camelot. That's why he'd done it. A necessary evil. An evil? No. Justice. It couldn't be evil if it was done for the right reason. It was right. It had to be right. But it felt so wrong.

"Want to talk about it?" Gwaine asked.

"No."

Gwaine didn't reply. Arthur shook his head. Yes, he did want to talk about it, but not directly.

"Gwaine?"

"Huh?"

"What do you think of magic?"

A pause. "Is this a trick question?"

Arthur smiled. "No. Your answer won't condemn you. What could I do anyway locked up in here?"

"Well, then...it seems one should use every advantage you've got to make it, yeah? And if you can access magic, well, then..."

"It corrupts the soul," Arthur argued back as he'd been taught.

"Doesn't everything?"

Arthur's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Anything has the potential to break your soul, mate." Gwaine sighed. "Elyan. He wanted a good thing, you know, upsetting injustice, but, well...it went too far. Dug too deep into him. And you know how that ended up. Seems to me a lot of things are neutral till you decide what to do with them."

Lancelot had argued close to that same thing, magic like a skill with a sword that could do great good or great evil depending on one's choices.

"You have any plans yet to get us out?"

Arthur was grateful for the change in conversation. His head ached fiercely. "Still working on it."

"Sooner is better than later."

"Yeah." Arthur closed his eyes, turning his thoughts away from philosophies of magic to something far more practical.

* * *

"Sire."

Uther replied without looking up from his throne where he'd stayed ever since dismissing the court. "Gaius."

"You cannot accept the challenge from Morgause." Ah. So his physician had heard the news. All of Camelot must know by now.

"I already have."

Gaius stalked towards the throne. "If she or her champion have magic, you will be in grave danger."

Uther dropped the hand that covered his eyes. "Don't you think I know that, Gaius." He slammed his fist onto the armrest. "She made the challenge in open court. I had no choice."

"You are king. You do not have to fight."

"I must!" Uther stood up, flinging a hand out. "If I don't, she'll reveal everything."

Gaius didn't reply and Uther hated his expression, the one that suspected way more than he'd ever been told.

"It's Camelot I think of."

"Of course, sire."

Uther looked away, pacing to a column, leaning into it. "Why did she have to come back to haunt me?" he whispered, vulnerable.

"She loved her father. She's grieving."

Uther shook his head slowly. It was more than that. So much more. Gaius didn't understand.

"I could declare her a victim of insanity."

No. She could still speak, hold the truth over his head. Uther massaged his temple with one hand. Those moments, flesh against flesh, they had been fleeting and precious and altogether sinful. How had he let himself be so weak? "I will duel her champion."

"Sire..."

"No more, Gaius."

Gaius pinched his lips together. "My lord." He backed away and out.

Uther was appreciative of Gaius' care more than the physician knew, but he would not, could not, be seen a coward. He'd face this champion. And after he won, he'd make sure Morgause de Bois never saw the light of day again.

* * *

 _Emrys is mine. Through him, I will forge a kingdom to envy, ruled by a true leader, not a selfish tyrant or a vengeful witch. Camelot will rise from its ashes like the phoenix of old._

Agravaine smiled, tapping at his journal. So long he'd waited, writing, wishing, hoping. Morgause had provided a way forward, but every order she threw at him chafed. She sought to push him down as Uther had. Never again. He would no longer play the submissive hound.

Agravaine stood. He walked to the door to his room and cracked it open to command the same elderly servant he'd sent out last night. "Assemble the watchmen in the yard. Have them bring their crossbows." The man bowed and ran down the hall without any extra threat.

Agravaine shut the door, leaning back against it and grinning. It was time to rid himself of loose ends and begin Emrys' training.


	70. Questions of Loyalty

**Author's Note:** Thank you, dear readers, for your patience as this chapter was a longer time in coming. For some reason, it took so much out of me and was a challenge to make work.

* * *

The dissipating whirlwind tossed out a tottering, cursing figure. Nimueh trembled and took a moment to gather herself. She'd have to stop doing that soon. The infernal vortex had transported her several meters away from her intended target. If she wasn't careful a branch would embed in her side next time.

She stilled, extending her hands. " _Gefind heofonfugol_ _drylicne_." A glowing white breeze stirred, encircling her arms and then zipping away to the south. Nimueh sprinted after it, hoping it didn't go far. She wasn't sure how long she could manage to navigate under her own power. She'd already incanted the whirlwind spell three times after discovering the object of her search farther distant than she'd expected.

The white glow flitted, stalled, hung still, then floated downwards. Nimueh reached it just as it dissolved into the ground. She knelt next to a still form. "Dead," she whispered. She lay a gentle hand on its soft feathers. No...a beat, slow, sluggish, but there.

" _G_ _eeftge._ "

The form flapped frantically and she gathered it in both hands, checking it over. Broken right wing, broken left leg. Difficult to mend even with magic. Birds were such fragile things. She took a deep breath, inhaling the magic all around her in brush and bush and tree. Her eyes gleamed brightly for several moments. The bird squawked.

"You live," she breathed out. Its wings flapped without hindrance, but the leg was twisted. "I can't do more than I've done. There isn't time. You must take me to Emrys."

Nero blinked several times. Nimueh had once despised the witchfinders' seekers but now placed her cupped palm over this one's head, willing it to somehow understand. The kestrel ascended into the air and Nimueh ran after.

* * *

Morgana received her afternoon meal in her chamber but picked at its offerings. Gwen fretted, flitting here and there straightening objects and checking for repairs that were nonexistent. She wrung her hands in between.

"What if King Uther loses?" the maid worried.

Morgana stared at her full plate. "What if he wins?"

Gwen stopped, mouth agape. "You're concerned he might _win_?"

Morgana didn't answer, eyes fixed on her meal.

"He could die."

"Do you know what he's done?" Morgana questioned softly. "He's killed children. _Children._ He's executed hundreds, many innocent. He massacred the high priestesses on the Isle of the Blessed and effectively murdered Morgause's father. Maybe, if he died, it would be justice."

Gwen sank down to her knees next to her mistress, hands on her armrest. Morgana glanced blankly at her friend. "He invited you in. Cared for you. Protected you."

"Those things can't change his crimes nor cover them." Morgana picked up her spoon, her knuckles white. "I love him...and hate him."

Gwen's hand laid over her arm. "I understand. Uther's done ill, but he's the king and if he dies..."

"Arthur will be king," Morgana whispered.

Gwen nodded. "I just...it's not right to kill a king like this."

"What if he'd executed Mordred?"

Gwen sighed. "I don't have answers. He exiled my brother, but Elyan went against the law. And even if it was unfair... I don't think Arthur's ready to be king."

Of course. Gwen would consider Arthur above all―young, untested, burdened. _It's such a pity there is none more worthy in line for the throne_ , Morgause's words echoed in Morgana's mind. _A pity, indeed,_ the ward replied internally, but certain she'd rather take her chances with Arthur than his father.

* * *

Gaius approached the king's armory, shuffling on aching legs. So long he'd been with Uther, watched him evolve from a dutiful hero to a broken father to a jealous king obsessed with maintaining his authority. That it would end like this... _The man suffers his own sins._ He knew that, and perhaps he should have felt better for it, but he didn't. Uther dying wouldn't wash away the pain of the past and could herald a time of chaos for Camelot, especially as Arthur was away.

Gaius entered the armory to behold Uther attired in his armor, helmet under his arm, bathed in light flowing from a high window. The man hadn't taken up arms in a long time or trained that Gaius knew of. The physician cleared his throat.

Uther turned his head. "Gaius."

"Sire, you should delay the challenge. Prince Arthur should be here."

Uther looked up at the window. "I was just thinking I was very glad he isn't here."

"Sire?"

"He'd try to take the challenge for me."

Gaius nodded to himself. That was certainly most probable.

"I've always loved him, Gaius, even if at times it's looked like I haven't. I've failed him along the way. Not been the father he needed...I..."

"My lord. Wait for him."

"No." Uther swiveled to face him. "Tell Arthur he is a good man and he will be a good king."

"You expect to lose."

"I intend to win, but I would remiss if I didn't consider it." Uther shoved his helmet over his head and marched from the room.

Gaius watched his king depart with a mixture of pride and remorse. For a moment, he had seemed the young knight full of vigor, vitality, and a righteous cause. Gaius glanced down at his wrinkled, worn hands. Merlin's youthful destiny had reignited his own magic in various ways. He had never been particularly strong, but he had skills once and he remembered them. Perhaps the time had come to risk himself once more to guarantee Camelot kept its king.

* * *

Arthur had wracked his brains until none remained. His prison was stark, completely sparse except for the bucket in the corner. He briefly considered using it as a weapon, but Gwaine said Agravaine's watchmen always opened the door cautiously and were muscular enough to take any man down. The only small hope was to rush them when they entered. Gwaine thought it best―might as well go down fighting.

"Arthur, they're here," Gwaine's muted voice called out.

Time had run out. "Don't tell them anything."

"There's nothing _left_ to tell them, but if your uncle hurts Merlin again..."

"If you lie to them, it could go worse for us or him." His uncle wasn't predictable. If they made up a plot, they could easily be dead men.

"You didn't see him break his fingers." Gwaine's voice was so small. He wasn't sure he could resist if Merlin were threatened.

"I'll pay him back for Merlin. Stay strong."

Arthur heard stamping, shouting from Gwaine, a groan, and then silence. He resisted the urge to pound the wall with his fist again. Coward! How could his mother be related to this man? An honorable man would afford him the opportunity to defend himself, not lock him up to gloat he'd won.

Several minutes passed and a key clicked in the lock of Arthur's door. His heart jammed into his throat as he rushed to the bucket and snapped it up. _Go down fighting_. The door opened. He rushed the first watchman that appeared, swinging the bucket like a shield, nailing him in the side of the head. The man growled and Arthur barreled into the hall―to find three others in attendance. He kicked out, taking one in the knee, throwing the bucket into another. His fists struck out in every direction and made contact twice, then they were all upon him using their own fists to make him submit. One pinned him down, knee digging into his chest and cursing as he tied up his wrists.

Arthur had a hard time standing when they lifted him to his feet―one of them had slammed something into the back of his legs and they felt like jelly. They half-dragged him down the hall as he wobbled. He steeled himself, expecting to be led to the room Gwaine had been brought to for questioning and was surprised when light streamed in from the entrance instead. They moved out into the harsh sun's glare, though coming winter tempered it with a cool breeze. He was hauled past several buildings, back towards the main house.

When they were close enough, Arthur perceived someone poised on the entrance steps several levels up. His uncle, shoulders pulled back, chest out, as if the world were his. He held something in his hand that trailed to a reddish bundle Arthur couldn't quite make out. His eyes moved to the line of men they were approaching. He recognized them from the back―Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan, though Elyan wasn't on his knees as the others and instead lay on the ground. All of them were tied as he. Arthur assumed he'd be shoved down next to them, but he was lugged past and pushed to his knees at the bottom of the stair steps. He lifted his chin and glared upwards at his uncle, squinting against the sun that backlit the lord as it shined over the manor roof.

"Arthur Pendragon."

"Agravaine de Bois."

"Ah. You've given up our relation then."

"As have you."

Agravaine nodded once. "You are Uther's spawn. His creation to kill and mold in his image. How much he must value you."

Arthur pinched his lips together. "What do you mean to do?"

Agravaine smiled. "Make Camelot what it used to be―a glorious, respected kingdom. Do you know how many hate Uther? He is surrounded by those who would see him destroyed, and won't he love it when his son is the one who accomplishes it."

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"I intend you to take the throne and hand it over to me."

Arthur laughed. He couldn't help it. "You know, of course, I will never go along with this, even if you torture me."

"Yes. I do know that. But there are other ways to insure your cooperation." Agravaine knelt down to the bundle lying next to him that Arthur couldn't entirely see from his current position. The lord pulled something from a pocket, a stick of some kind, and broke it. He shoved it down into the bundle and smoke wafted up. There was coughing, and a head rose just enough for Arthur to catch raven hair.

"Merlin!" He tried to jump to his feet, but was shoved back down by two watchmen behind. He watched fearfully as Agravaine gripped the boy's shirt collar to pull him upright on his knees. Merlin blinked lazily and swayed. Agravaine held tight to the collar, his other hand on what Arthur now recognized as a chain that trailed behind Merlin's back, most likely to manacled wrists.

Agravaine chuckled. "I thought at first you knew about him, but you're ignorant. I'm fairly impressed he managed to sneak in under your nose. I'm not sure of his intentions. I can only assume he meant to gain your trust, then turn on you at an opportune moment."

Arthur stared at Merlin, so silent. "What have you done to him?"

"Kept him under my control. For now. In time, I will release him when I am sure of his loyalty. Some say he's the most powerful sorcerer in existence, and maybe he will be, but now, he's this." Agravaine pulled on the chain and Merlin would have fallen backwards if Agravaine hadn't been steadying him at the collar. "A magical gift for those who may utilize him."

"You're insane," Arthur growled. "Merlin is no more a sorcerer than I am."

Agravaine nodded approvingly. "He has, indeed, hoodwinked you, but no more pretense. I need you both to renew this kingdom." Agravaine fished out another stick and snapped it, thrusting it under Merlin's nose. Merlin breathed in and about gagged, doubling over. "Sorcerer. It is time to prove who you are." Agravaine rose up, forcing Merlin up by the chain. "Show him."

Merlin's mouth opened, but no sound came forth. Blood froze in Arthur's veins. Agravaine had done it; he'd taken his tongue. But then the boy spoke. "W-hat?" A burden lifted off Arthur's shoulders as relief flooded him.

"Reveal your true self, Emrys."

Arthur frowned. Emrys? This man was truly deluded. Merlin's eyes roamed over the group below, finally coming to rest on Arthur. "Arthur."

Arthur about came undone and he spoke without thinking. "I'm sorry, Merlin. I got you into this." What had he been thinking allowing Merlin to follow him on such a dangerous mission? He should have left in the dead of night without a word to the boy, leaving commands to the captain of Buckden to transport him to Ealdor. This was his fault.

Agravaine leaned over, grasping something behind Merlin's back and the boy gasped in pain.

"Stop!" Arthur shouted.

"Show him your magic!"

Merlin's eyes welled with tears.

"He's not a sorcerer!" Arthur cried out. "Leave him be!"

"I..." Merlin stammered. "I have...no magic."

Agravaine, still leaning down, cursed, and Merlin cried out again, tears trickling down his cheeks. "Show him now!"

"Craven!" Gwaine suddenly yelled. Scuffling behind Arthur indicated Gwaine was struggling against the watchmen. "Torturing a boy! Be a man! Face me!"

Agravaine snarled, standing up and releasing Merlin who crumpled forward, breathing like he'd run a race. "I don't need you anymore! Watchmen!"

Arthur craned his neck back to see three of the watchmen move in front of the men tied up behind him. They held crossbows at the ready.

"No!" Arthur leaped again but was crushed to the ground, bent over by the two watchmen in charge of him.

He caught Gwaine's eye. The man's teeth had clenched, but he smiled and nodded and looked straight ahead. This couldn't be happening. They couldn't be dying for trying to help him. Their lives would be wasted. Arthur's eyes rolled to the steps; all he could glimpse were Agravaine's boots, but he could imagine the wild eyes of the man as he spoke excitedly.

"I meant Emrys to kill them with a thought, but I suppose being so naive he isn't ready for killing yet. He will learn."

Arthur felt the terror of those words. This man would demand things of Merlin he couldn't do, then punish him for being unable to do them. How did one fight such delusion? Arthur heard the crossbows drawn back. How? His eyes widened.

"Uncle! You're right! He's a sorcerer. And I know how to use him, but I'll never tell you if you kill these men!"

* * *

Morgana wandered towards the arena. News of the king's challenge had brought out most from the town and the air hung thick with excitement and uncertainty. Morgana, who had never seen Uther fighting a true foe, felt the same in spades. Her creased brow and worried eyes belied her apparent composure.

In truth, Gwen's innocence had challenged her conflicted feelings. Uther had exiled Gwen's brother, flogged Arthur, and still the girl didn't champion his death. Instead she pointed out Uther's kindness to his ward. He _had_ been kind, thoughtful, protective. For these things, Morgana would mourn if he passed. But she also couldn't forget Uther sentencing a child to burn, couldn't deny brutal stories from the purge, couldn't help imagining he'd have her killed if he even guessed for a moment she harbored magic.

 _If he dies, I'll be safer...Maybe._ She had more hope for Arthur, but oh, Uther dying would hurt him deeply. Maybe even harden him further towards those with magic. Perhaps then Uther shouldn't die.

Morgana stopped outside the arena, a hand to her forehead. What had brought her to this point, to contemplating if a man she considered a second father should die? She felt coldly detached and sorry for it. She _should_ champion Uther, shouldn't she? Then why couldn't she?

"My lady."

Morgana turned to find Morgause heading towards her followed by her champion. The woman was clothed in a red dress that accentuated her slender frame and was accented in embroidery reminiscent of dripping blood, though most likely that was Morgana's impression rather than its true symbolism. Morgause had twisted her brown hair atop her head and its golden highlights reflected the bright sun like a divine crown. "Why are you doing this?" Morgana questioned without preamble.

Morgause slowed and stopped in front of her. "Didn't I tell you I seek justice?"

"So you'll kill a king."

Morgause raised her chin. "Who disciplines a king? Who punishes him when he oversteps his boundaries?"

Morgana whispered, "No one."

"None who fear for themselves. Whatever good Uther may have brought to Camelot―stability, order, law―his crimes cannot be ignored. My father deserves justice as do so many others Uther has wronged."

"I cannot dissuade you."

Morgause shook her head and laid a hand on Morgana's arm, looking her deep in the eyes. "And I think you do not really want me to. You know this is what must be done." The woman pulled back. "At least I gifted him the honor of fighting for himself instead of choosing a sword in the back." Morgause strolled into the arena, her knight trailing.

* * *

In the shade of an awning on the far side of the arena, Uther observed Morgause enter and sucked in a sharp breath. She sported the red dress of a high priestess. Gaius had been right. She knew magic...or was it a symbol, a message for him―I am repaying you for the deaths of my sisters?

His niece paused to speak in the ear of her knight. That rusty armor. What man didn't care for his equipment? A man who had no access to servants, no coin for supplies. Was he a companion of Morgause? Though _her_ armor was clearly cared for, indicating some way of polishing. Perhaps it was simple laziness on the knight's part. If so, it bode well. Perhaps he would be as careless with his dueling as he was with his armor.

Uther's eyes roamed the crowd in the stands, and he noted Morgana had found her seat. He should have been up there beside her as he had been for so many years. He'd almost looked for her before leaving for the arena, but he couldn't conjure the right words to speak. How could he express all she meant to him without causing pain? How could he reveal what this challenge really meant for her, that he partly accepted it to protect her?

His mind flicked to Arthur, his firstborn. They had parted after an argument. How he regretted it now! He still knew he'd been right, but he should have assured his son their interaction hadn't changed his pride in him.

The champion strode forward. Uther prepared, banishing errant thoughts and clinging to the anticipation of battle. He barely registered the encouraging cheers from the stands as he marched towards the challenger. They met in the middle, separated only by a few meters. Uther raised his sword to his forehead in a gesture of respect. The knight ignored propriety and charged.

* * *

Merlin had woken, his head swimming once more, rocking back and forth in turbulent waves. Fuzzy vision revealed blurs around him, one next to him, dark and foreboding, others below. He floated above those ones, at least, looked down on them. Something tugged on his wrists and he discovered his hands awkwardly secured behind his back, unable to move except for a brief stretch of his fingers. Two of those still throbbed. Still?

Something latched on and pulled him upright to his knees. Oh. There were more things here, indistinct blobs below him and that muffled voice again. It was muttering stuff about someone, but he wasn't sure who, and another voice was answering back. His wrists were pulled back harshly, but whatever held him kept him steady. A snap sounded and a gagging vapor invaded his lungs. He coughed and doubled over, but his mind grew sharper, and he clearly heard the voice prompting him to prove who he was. He was being pulled up again by a clinking chain.

"W-hat?" he managed to croak out.

"Reveal your true self, Emrys."

Merlin's eyes roved, finding he could make out features on the forms below―Elyan, Percival, Gwaine, watchmen, and―"Arthur." The prince knelt, hands bound in front, two watchmen guarding either side behind him. Arthur's gaze was tormented by remorse.

"I'm sorry, Merlin. I got you into this."

Pain exploded in his fingers and he gasped, instinctively trying to pull away, but he was held fast by the figure next to him. This had happened before. Someone demanding things, hurting him...Agravaine!

"Show him your magic!" Arthur's uncle commanded.

What? No. He couldn't do that. Never do that. He'd be rejected, exiled, hated. "I...I have...no magic."

The pain tripled in his fingers and he cried aloud, tears pouring from his eyes.

"Show him now!"

Someone else was shouting, and his fingers were released. He pitched forward, forehead on stone, trying to suck air into his lungs, to think beyond pain. He lifted his head enough to take in the scene. Watchmen moving in front of Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival, crossbows at the ready. Arthur screaming, and then...

"Uncle! You're right! He's a sorcerer..." Merlin's ears buzzed. He heard nothing following; he only stared and gaped. Arthur...knew?

Agravaine raised his hand, and the watchmen stayed their weapons. "You know?"

"Yes," Arthur confirmed. He was lifted up from the ground by the two watchmen. "He's powerful as you say, but he has to be encouraged to act."

Merlin scrunched up his forehead. What in the world did that mean?

"I don't believe you," Agravaine spat out. Merlin was hauled upwards, a hand under his right armpit. He wavered on his feet. "Prove it." He was tossed down the steps and barely managed to catch himself as he awkwardly reached the bottom. The chain attached to his wrists pulled taut. Arthur stared at him with pity.

"Arthur."

The prince was prodded forward to meet him by the watchmen. "Forgive me, Merlin," his master whispered.

"I...I've done it for you. Only for you." His eyes were welling up again.

Arthur appeared confused, but nodded. "You've been a good lad all this time."

"It seems he is not under your control as you claim," Agravaine's voice taunted from the steps.

Arthur glanced up at the man, then in a flash stepped around his scribe, threw his arms out, and crashed them down upon Merlin's shoulders. He spun away from the watchmen, his bound hands clutching Merlin to his breast and crushing into his throat. Merlin writhed and spluttered in his grasp, clawing at the unforgiving grip.

"He's mine!" Arthur shouted. "He'll never be yours, even if I have to kill him."

"No! Stop!" Agravaine shouted in a panic.

Arthur tightened his grip and Merlin squirmed.

"I want Camelot back, same as you," Arthur was saying. "Father doesn't know about him."

"You...you lie."

"We can join together. Use the sorcerer. Rule as one."

"This is...a trick."

The rope of Arthur's bound hands buried into Merlin's neck, squeezing mercilessly. "Then he dies."

Energy tingled along Merlin's spine, spreading through his arms and legs. An urgent pulse screamed for release. Arthur knew. Arthur was killing him. He dropped his defenses.

* * *

Uther had barely raised his shield when Morgause's challenger was upon him, slashing downwards with his sword. The impact against his shield tipped him backwards and he stumbled. The blow had been heavy, vicious, the force behind it meant to slice an enemy straight through the middle. This knight would fight without finesse.

Uther had to swing his sword round to block another slash aimed at his arm as he regained his stance. This was no ordinary duel, no preliminary testing of each other's skills, no feints or observations. The height of battle from the start. So Uther returned in kind, recalling days of old, his taking of the citadel when he was young and the thrill of war coursing through his veins.

The knight didn't slow, swinging left, right, thrusting in the middle, not affording the king a moment to anticipate his moves. Uther threw up his shield, meeting with his sword at every turn. His his mouth twitched at the corners. He'd missed this. He threw himself back at the knight, his own sword twirling and cutting with impressive speed. Now it was the knight's turn to step back and block.

Uther searched for any mistake, any slight moment of hesitation on the knight's part. When it appeared, he crashed against the challenger with his shield, pressing him back. The knight wavered, but recovered, and for a moment their eyes met. That dark brown, more umber than brown, intelligent, piercing, familiar. Uther's heart skipped a beat. _No. It couldn't be._

The knight broke their gaze and shoved him backwards, then sent a thrust at Uther's chest. Uther just managed to back up and felt the sword graze over his breastbone. Witchery. Sorcery. High priestesses with power unimagined, even to violate the dead.

Several more attacks. Uther parried, blocked with his shield, retreated unwillingly, but didn't press his advantage. Surely this wasn't what he feared. This couldn't be a man he had once known, loved, cherished. He'd imagined those eyes. But as he staggered back, he recognized the distinctive style in the knight's full out assault. Even in the heat of battle, this man had seemed an champion for all men.

A slash to Uther's arm made contact. He cried aloud. The knight's shield slammed into the wound, and the king buckled to his knees. He cowered under his own shield as blow after blow rained down. Foreign tears wet his eyes. He'd have to kill this man a second time.

* * *

The fortunate thing about a formal challenge, and especially one that involved a king, was everyone wanted to see it. A minimal guard was stationed in the citadel, only one soldier near the entrance to the underground catacombs. He was easily dealt with. All she had to do was smile, act surprised she'd taken a wrong turn, and chant a soft spell. Morgause stepped over a crumpled body and made her way down dark steps.

" _Leoht_." Light bloomed in her hand, and she smiled to herself. She doubted any had noticed her exit from the arena. All attention fell on the duelists the moment the match started, a perfect cover for the next step of her plan.

She passed into the royal mausoleum, admiring walls embedded with mosaics trimmed in gold leaf, their scenes quite beautiful and often historical. So much could be learned here among the dead. She recalled her lessons, identifying notable royals as she passed their sarcophagi. She slowed when a room appeared ahead. She paused before entering. Uther might survive her champion. In fact, she assumed he would, but his victory would turn hollow. He'd be rattled, hurt. She smiled. And this. This would undo him.

Morgause moved into the room containing a solitary sarcophagus, a marble carving along its top parroting the person who lay within its confines. She ran a hand over the image and paused to consider its face―delicate, sweet, pure. Part of her thought it a cruelty to do what she must to one who had never caused her any harm, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Morgause stood back. She inhaled long and deep, then held an etched coin aloft. She began to chant, lowly at first, but louder by the seconds. A crescendo, and the top of the sarcophagus fractured, cracking straight down the middle. Its two halves tumbled to the floor and Morgause tossed the coin inside, roaring the last of the incantation.

A harsh gasp issued forth, lungs that hadn't breathed in so long desperate for air. Morgause approached, peered down, touched the frail arm of the body, and spoke gently. "Your time has come."


	71. The Dam Breaks

Arthur hated himself. Merlin was futilely trying to escape his grip, his fingers at first clawing at the rope digging into his neck, then his hands desperately pulling at Arthur's wrists. He'd be starving for air. _I promised not to hurt him. I'll explain. Please understand, Merlin._

Arthur's thoughts about Merlin tumbled through his brain in rapid fire, entertained and discarded, expect for one dominating plea― _P_ _ass out already!_ Merlin had hung on longer than he'd expected.

"Wait!" Agravaine cried out when he threatened Merlin's life.

Arthur was about to loosen his hold when he felt a shift in Merlin's posture, a stiffness and an odd warmth. He opened his mouth to pretend a bargain with his uncle when an explosion cracked the air and cast him backwards. Rolling head over heels twice, he came to rest on his stomach, groaning at pain shooting through him from the abrupt tumbling. Battle-worthy as he was, he quickly crawled to his feet and was surprised to look down and find his wrists unbound. His gaze immediately sought Merlin sprawled out in the dust, sucking air into his lungs. What had happened?

As he moved towards his scribe, he noted everyone else picking themselves up as well, even Agravaine on the stairs pressing his hand to his side. Despite his bewilderment, Arthur recognized the urgency to take advantage of the situation. He ran for the steps, meaning to knock Agravaine down, but before he reached the man a harsh cry split the air. Jerking his head to the right, he caught a watchman tipping over, a crossbow bolt dead center in his chest. Another bolt thunked into the steps, sending stone chips flying. Then there was a war cry and a blessed sight met his eyes―Leon, sword drawn, yelling and tossing the prince his own.

Arthur snapped the sword out of the air. He held it aloft as the remaining watchmen rushed him. Leon took position at his back, each slashing at the watchmen. "Leon! Perfect timing."

"Wished I'd been faster, my lord."

"Who's got the crossbow?"

"Lancelot."

"He's here?"

"Followed you."

Arthur kept fighting, but chuckled inside. Of course. He stabbed a watchmen in the gut, then whirled to face another, but sighted Agravaine now at the bottom of the steps reaching for Merlin. He redirected, ducking under the watchmen's blow and lunging towards the boy, but a sudden gust almost unbalanced him and he had to root himself to the ground to prevent falling. A woman stumbled out of swirling wind, tall, hair in braids, tattered dress.

"Nimueh," Arthur spoke in amazement.

She threw her hand up, outstretched towards Agravaine. The man had fallen back at her arrival and wasn't moving a muscle―a bolt hovered inches in front of his nose. Footsteps pounded and a voice shouted.

"It jammed!"

Arthur glanced over his shoulder at Lancelot flinging a crossbow aside and drawing his sword then slowing when he caught sight of the sorceress. Everywhere else Arthur looked their enemies were down, dead or wounded. Gwaine clasped a watchman's sword in his bound hands and Percival stood over another who whimpered as if he'd taken the worst beating in his life. Elyan lay still as did Merlin.

Arthur's head swiveled back to the sorceress and his treacherous uncle. "I should have known magic was involved here." Nimueh had knelt in front of Agravaine. "Get away from him!"

"Hush, Arthur Pendragon!" the woman commanded without even a glance his direction. Her eyes pierced into Agravaine over the floating bolt. "Dark is your soul," she spoke slowly. "Selfish, arrogant, prideful, impersonating morality for the sake of the dead. You want nothing but your own power to the detriment of Emrys."

"Nimueh," Agravine growled. "You killed my sister."

"Yes."

"You...confess."

"What good to hide it? Even if I spoke against it, I performed the ritual."

"The Pendragons must die."

"One must be removed, but not this one. Arthur Pendragon must live."

"W-hat?"

"Emrys needs him."

"Nimueh!" Arthur shouted, not following the conversation and not quite trusting this wasn't some ploy like his own. The sorceress rose to her feet, backed away from his uncle, and turned.

"His life is in your hands," she spoke decisively. "Let us see what kind of man you are." She waved her right hand and the bolt dropped to the ground. Then she bent down and gripped Merlin's arm. "I will not take him far. You may come find him. _Poden_!"

"Merlin!" Arthur cried, as the whirlwind appeared, swallowing his servant.

* * *

Morgana stood transfixed, unable to keep her seat as Uther Pendragon cowered under his shield, the challenger's blows raining down so heavy she expected the shield to crack at any moment. Her heart raced, her hand clutched at her neck, and she bit so hard on her lip blood seeped from a small puncture.

At that moment, a memory enveloped her, the week of her arrival in Camelot. How much she'd hated the citadel, the castle a constant reminder that her life had been torn asunder and her father lay dead in the ground. She snapped at the servants, derided the women of the court, shouted at Arthur. Her caretaker threatened her with the king, but she hadn't cared, until she'd been escorted by two guards to the king's chamber.

Her father had been close to the king, his best friend, many said. She had seen Uther more than once, but not spent much time in his presence; rather than drag her into court, her father had sheltered her on their own lands. Even so, she was well aware of the king's fighting prowess, of his strict law and strict household, of his son that received physical punishment for infractions. "Be strong," her father had last said to her. She raised her head when the king's doors opened in spite of her terror. Dare Uther beat her and she would bite his hand to scar him forever!

The guards had shut the doors behind her the moment she stepped forward, leaving her alone to face the imposing man rising from his desk. "My Lady Morgana."

She froze, a statue by the door, eyes straight ahead. His footsteps came closer. She tried not to force back fearful tears prickling her eyes.

"I am told you are difficult to handle, unladylike, and in all respects...a brat."

Morgana lifted her chin higher.

"What do you say to these accusations?"

"You may beat me. I care not."

There was so long a pause, Morgana let her eyes roll to the side to see what she least expected―the king with unshed tears in his eyes. Her chin lowered a fraction.

"What guardian would I be if I beat you, child?"

"You beat your son."

Uther actually chuckled at that, then inhaled deeply. "You will be just like your father, I see. Good." He stepped in front of her and ducked his head to peer into her eyes, which wasn't hard as her chin still tilted upwards quite a bit. "Arthur is disciplined, not beaten. He is to be heir to the kingdom and must be molded into a good king."

Morgana swallowed. "And me, my lord?" Her voice came out less confident, a slight trembling slurring her words.

"No hand will strike you, yet I will do my best to make you a lady as will my household. What did your father want for you? A good breeding, a good husband, and a fine life. I will give you these if you let me."

Morgana's chin fell. "I don't want a husband."

"Not now perhaps, but..."

"Never." Her lips quivered and the tears she'd fought back released.

"Why?"

She whispered. "He could die." She sobbed and suddenly she was wrapped in Uther's arms and she heard him weeping, too.

"I miss him as much as you."

Morgana blinked and brushed at her cheeks. She'd been so caught in the memory, she hadn't noticed its effects. Uther hadn't embraced her in a long time, but she supposed it was less proper for him to show such affection to a woman than a child. He had given her a home, instruction, preparation for life, and love in his own way.

Moisture dissolved in her eyes and the arena came into focus once more, revealing Uther under a rain of blows. Her mind cleared of its conflict. She didn't want Uther to die; she wanted him to change. She jumped over the railing of her box and waded onto the sandy floor.

* * *

Arthur wanted nothing more than to begin a search for Merlin, but his uncle propped up on his elbows had to be dealt with before even the youth who meant the world to him, the one who'd been tortured and threatened with tongue removal. Arthur's right hand tingled against his sword hilt. Execution was too good for the man, but Nimueh's challenge rang in his ears. _What kind of man am I?_

"On your feet," Arthur commanded with a growl,extending his sword towards his uncle.

Agravaine, seemingly cowed, managed to rise.

"You will surrender yourself, your lands, and all your assets."

Agravaine's brow deepened into a scowl. "And you'll use Emrys for yourself."

Arthur's heartbeat quickened. "Merlin is my scribe only. Not a tool I manipulate and certainly not what your deluded mind has imagined."

"He'll have your kingdom!" Agravaine shouted. "And you will fall of your own ignorance!"

Arthur looked away dismissively to Leon. "Bind him."

"No Pendragon will rule Camelot!" Agravaine moved in a flash, grasping a watchman's discarded sword and rushing the prince.

Leon made to intercept, but Arthur shoved him back. "He's mine alone!"

Leon stepped back, making room and sending a warning glance to Gwaine who looked like he might join the fight anyway.

Agravaine swiped with his sword and Arthur met the attempt to slice his neck deftly, yet recognized the force and smoothness in the blow. His uncle had, after all, been one of his father's finest knights.

"Back off, uncle. I will not kill you unless you force me."

Agravaine snarled, slashing at him again and making Arthur defend. "Was this the plan all along? Tempt me with Emrys and use Nimueh to rescue you? She killed your mother!"

"I know," Arthur spat out, attacking with his sword. Agravaine blocked each blow, but lost ground.

"And you use her like Emrys anyway?" Agravaine accused, then came on strong, hacking so vigorously Arthur now backtracked and could hardly keep up.

"Sorcery is an abomination!" Arthur declared. "I don't use any sorcerers ever."

"Then why do they defend you?"

"I don't know!"

Words were lost for a time in the heat of the match, and Arthur forgot anyone else was watching until Agravaine took a nick to the chest, barely managing to jump away before he was impaled. There was a moment's pause as both regained their breath, eying each other. Agravaine kept his sword aloft and ready.

Arthur stared at the man who hardly reflected his mother but had only a day ago spoken of her in such angelic terms. He lowered his sword. "Surrender," he pleaded, his eyes welling with tears.

Agravaine's visage faltered momentarily, then hardened once more. "Camelot must not burden itself with Pendragon blood."

"I bear my mother's blood, too!" Arthur shouted, sick of being denied the link to the mother he'd never known.

Agravaine cackled. "How can you know what's in your blood? Magic formed you. Maybe it is you who are the abomination and Camelot has no heir."

Rage burned up Arthur's insides and he threw himself at the man. He could defend his actions as justified, executing a man who committed treason, but the darkness of his heart spoke more, laying at his own feet charges of inadequacy, hypocrisy, infidelity, all because he'd been borne of magic. All the wrath and betrayal from that act and others his father had perpetuated poured forth on the uncle who had pretended to care but meant to destroy any meaning he wrenched out of this wretched life. He beat and swung and slashed until Agravaine crumpled to the ground, a sword in his belly. Sweat stung Arthur's eyes, causing him to blink, and he heard his uncle's last words, but mercifully did not watch him die.

"You lose...Your father..." A gurgle of blood. "She'll have him...she'll dip her hands in your bastard blood..." A last breath whisped out of Agravaine's gaping mouth and all was silent.

* * *

Gaius had situated himself in the stands of the arena at the front and near the center where he would have the most direct line of sight should he be needed. He'd reviewed every spell he'd ever known, and though most were medical in nature, one or two were useful in battle. Now as Uther cringed under a shield, Morgause's champion a veritable automaton in its relentless hammering, he summoned the magic within himself. His power was far weaker than Merlin's or Morgana's, and he feared failure, but it was all he had to offer.

Ignoring the shouts and cries of the spectators around him, he drew in a preparatory breath, stretched out his hand, and opened his mouth. With any luck, his spell would go unnoticed in the chaos.

"Morgause! Morgause! Stop this!"

Gaius blinked. What― Morgana had appeared in the arena, shouting at the top of her lungs, searching out the author of the challenge. When she didn't find her, she headed towards the king and his challenger. Gwen had shot to her feet in the box, calling out, "Morgana!" and in seconds leaped onto the arena floor, chasing after her mistress. Gaius firmed his jaw. It was now or never.

He incanted the spell, low, but distinct in his clipped physician way. He closed his eyes to secret the telltale glow and hoped at the sudden cheering of the crowd. He raised his lids. Uther had come to his feet and it appeared the champion had stumbled back of his own accord. Gaius glanced to his right and left, but no one paid him any heed. He let himself breathe again and looked to the duel. Morgana had halted on seeing Uther recover and Gwen had reached her, pulling at her arm.

Uther seemed to have gained a second wind, whirling and slicing and shoving with all the glory he used to possess. The crowd grew silent, so fierce was the battle between the combatants. There were no more mistakes, only flawless form in the midst of the ferocity, every blow calculated to perfection. Gaius' breath stalled in his lungs again; it was like watching the heroic knights of old.

And then, Uther stopped fighting. The crowd gasped collectively as the champion's sword that had been aiming for Uther's head brushed his cheek, blood welling in its wake, but their king had leaned back fast enough to avoid a killing blow. The challenger faltered, having expected to meet resistance. His stumble was all Uther needed. Their king leaped and shoved the blade deep into the knight's neck, then withdrew it just as brutally.

The champion buckled to his knees, shaking. He dropped his sword, hands going to his helmet, wrenching it away and letting it drop to the ground. He pitched onto his back.

Morgana, still near the duelists, began to run towards Uther who had knelt next to the defeated knight and grasped the man's hand, an unusual move that kept the crowd quiet and confused. Gaius crinkled an eyebrow.

Morgana had almost reached the king when Uther cried out, "Stay back, Morgana!"

* * *

Merlin was barely aware of a tempestuous wind and the sensation of being sucked into a tube and spit out its end. He registered a grip on his arm and its aided support as he slipped to the ground onto his back. A gentle hand laid across his brow.

"Emrys? I need you to hear me."

Merlin's good hand went to his neck and he flinched when his fingers made contact. The damaged skin flamed worse than a bubbling sunburn he'd gotten as a young child. "Arth...He..." His voice was hoarse, dry, weak. The cool hand moved from his forehead to grasp his shaking palm. It held tightly and infused a magical strength.

"Do you know me?"

Merlin focused on the woman peering down on him. "Nimueh."

She smiled. "Good. Listen. You must return to Camelot with the prince. You will find the king no longer a threat to you, but I fear for the Lady Morgana. Her gift must be protected." Her hand squeezed in his. "Repeat what I have told you."

Merlin didn't really want to. It hurt simply to open his mouth. "We have to get back to Camelot," he strained out. "Morgana...needs protection."

Nimueh nodded. "I think your power may be the only way to stop Morgause."

"Who?"

"Morgause de Bois. She will destroy all Camelot if we let her and the hopes of Albion."

"My...power." Merlin felt the ache of his broken fingers and sudden tears came to his eyes. "It failed."

"No, Emrys. Your power saved you. You were in danger and you chose yourself over Arthur Pendragon."

"I...what?"

"This is the other thing you must hear. Are you listening closely?"

Merlin nodded.

"Have you ever accessed the full extent of your magic?"

Merlin didn't answer right away, confused.

"You know many call you the greatest sorcerer to walk the earth?"

Oh, that. He shook his head. Arthur had almost killed him. "I'm not."

"You're still locked up in your secrets and fears. You must escape them to be who you are meant to be."

Hot tears fogged Merlin's eyes. "How?"

"Has there ever been a time your magic was stronger when the prince was involved?"

Merlin thought back. Maybe, yes, when Arthur was in danger. Like... "The lute. I enchanted it when I thought of Arthur."

Nimueh nodded sagely. "Do you remember when we first met and I begged you to break your bond with Arthur Pendragon?"

Merlin would never forget his meeting with Nimueh, his desperation to do and say everything right to save Arthur. "Yes."

"When a sorcerer is bound to another, he can only achieve his full potential in one of two ways. The easiest is to kill the one who binds him."

Merlin's eyes widened. Kill Arthur? A shadowy part of him whispered back, _Didn't he try to kill you?_

"Though if you were to choose this way, I fear what it would do to a soul such as yours. There is another choice. You can fully complete the bond, inform Arthur Pendragon of your magic so he may accept it. You will not be whole until he is dead or on your side."

Arthur's hands around his neck, the rope digging into him, siphoning off every bit of air. Arthur already knew and he wanted to kill him. _Kill him before he kills you!_ fear cried. "But...he doesn't accept magic. He can't accept me."

Nimueh released his hand, glancing into the forest, then back into his gaze. "Whatever fate you choose, come to me, Emrys, when you are whole. There is much I can teach you. This one will know the way." She pressed a feathery lump into his hands.

Merlin rolled his eyes downwards and glimpsed his faithful pet. "Nero!"

A hand covered his eyes and he felt suddenly quite sleepy. "Heal and rest."

* * *

Arthur hadn't waited for anyone else after Agravaine fell under his hand. He barely spared the body one last glance before crying out, "Nimueh!" To his surprise, a golden ball of light appeared, zinging away, trailing fading light behind it. He followed, sprinting, ignoring Leon and Lancelot calling after him.

The light left the confines of Agravaine's manor lands and zipped into the forested surroundings. Arthur followed until he glimpsed a red dress. Nimueh came into sight kneeling next to Merlin, covering his eyes with a hand. He brandished his bloody sword. "What are you doing to him?"

Nimueh tenderly ran her hand over Merlin's cheek, then turned to face him. "What must be done."

"Why are you here?"

Nimueh smiled mischievously. "Ah, Arthur Pendragon, if I told you that, you wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

"It's not my place."

Arthur's sword bobbed as he continued to stare at her. "You killed my mother."

"Unintentionally."

"You used magic on her!"

"As did your father, and have you forgiven him for that?"

Arthur swallowed thickly. Maybe not so much forgiven as learned to live with it.

Nimueh looked down on Merlin. "Put your faith in this one. Your future is in his hands. _Poden_."

Wind spun again and Arthur cried out, "Stop!" but of course, he didn't have the power to interrupt the sorceress' abrupt departure. Instead, he knelt next to Merlin, pushing his fingers into the youth's neck. A steady beat.

"Arthur!" "Arthur!" Leon and Lancelot. They came crashing behind him.

"Merlin," Lancelot exclaimed, kneeling next to Arthur. "What's happened to him?"

Arthur didn't answer. His mind swirled with the happenings of the last few days, the last quarter hour dominant. One happening rose above the rest―an explosion he couldn't explain that broke his bonds and freed Merlin. It had to have been Nimueh. There was no other explanation. But in the back of his mind, he wondered.

* * *

After Morgana obeyed his command, Uther looked back to the man who had been his last and closest friend. His face was gaunt, cheeks hallowed, devoid of color, scarred, death come alive. If he hadn't appeared so like the last time Uther saw him, he might not have recognized him, but he'd held the lifeless form before him after its owner had been chained for two weeks with Aredian's torture his daily food.

Tears sprang to Uther's eyes and his heart faltered. He couldn't breathe.

"Y-you...you..."

Uther's hand grasping the living corpse shook.

"You...could have...listened..."

What cruelty to call him back from his eternal rest! The worst of all magic practices performed simply to punish the king who had let him die. Uther couldn't bear for his hand to be used against this man twice over. He wanted to speak, to comfort, to apologize, say something, anything... Words choked his throat.

Uther hadn't heard the footfalls on the sand and didn't sense a presence until a silken dress brushed against his cheek. He looked up, horrified. "Morgana. No."

Her brow was drawn, her eyes wide, her face pale. The knight's eyes roamed to hers. "My girl...my only...joy..."

Morgana began to tremble. She lost her knees, but Gwen was there, grasping her and guiding her down. "Father?"

The knight gasped, once, twice, fixed his eyes on Uther. "Your doom...is nigh...Justice will have you..." His voice faded at the end and his eyes grew still. Tears streamed down Uther's cheeks, and he clutched tighter to Gorlois' hand.

Morgana didn't move, didn't cry, just stared blankly. Uther suddenly raged, standing to his feet and screaming, "Arrest Morgause de Bois! She has committed highest treason against the crown!"

Soldiers scrambled, the crowd murmured, and the traitor's voice rang out, unnaturally filling the arena.

"Retribution! Punishment! These are yours, Uther Pendragon!" Morgause stalked towards him, the folds of her red dress billowing out behind her. "You killed and tortured and destroyed." She stopped a few feet from the king. "And took what never belonged to you." Her gaze flicked to Morgana still kneeling and staring at the knight.

Uther stepped in front of Morgana, guarding her with his sword. "How dare you violate the dead."

"How dare you violate the living!" Morgause shrieked.

"Arrest her!"

Morgause smirked as soldiers rushed to obey. She flung out her hands and everyone fell backwards, Uther as well. He rolled and slid and came to his feet, but Morgause had already reached Morgana.

"Do not touch her!"

Morgause knelt next to Morgana. "You can't claim what you have rejected all these years! She will never be yours! _Poden_!"

Wind whipped the arena, scattering dust every which way. The crowd cried out in fear, many tripping over one another to flee. Uther cried out in anguish, stretching out his hands, "No!" A whirlwind looped around Morgause and Morgana; only his ward's maidservant reached them in time. Her hand penetrated the ungodly vortex, but she screamed and fell back, clutching her right arm to her chest.

The whirlwind dissipated. Morgause, Gorlois, and Morgana had vanished.


	72. Recompense

Arthur poured a goblet of wine. He didn't usually drink to excess, preferring control over dull inebriation, but this would be his third round. He faced a window, one hand clasping the goblet and the other braced on the side table containing the wine pitcher, gazing out on the expansive de Bois lands. A fleeting vision conjured his mother lilting through fields dotted with heather. A foolish fantasy, but it kept him from dwelling on the splatter of blood streaked across his shirt.

The door behind him creaked open, but he didn't turn. "Arthur?" entreated a calm and steady voice, one that had been an anchor in troublesome moments throughout his lifetime.

"How are they?" he inquired, gulping down the exotic spiced wine his uncle had probably spent a small fortune importing.

"Elyan's not well. Leon's gone into the town to find a physician. Says my medical skills patched him up well enough from his arrow wound, but he'd prefer a professional's second opinion." Lancelot paused. When Arthur didn't acknowledge the humor, he sighed and continued. "Percival's ribs and ankle are broken. Physician can see him, too. Gwaine's only bruised, the healthiest of the lot."

Arthur nodded absently. Footfalls drawing closer and a huffing breath indicated a man who knew him too well.

"You had to do it. He chose to become what he was." Lancelot's tone was firm and unyielding.

"Did he?" Arthur swallowed again, emptying the goblet.

"Yes."

Arthur considered the silver inlaid goblet, as empty as he felt. "His brother died in my father's service. His sister was killed because my father made her a victim of magic. What would I do, if it were me?"

"Not what he did," Lancelot declared.

Arthur laughed scornfully and turned. "No? I wanted to gut my father when I found out about my mother. When he ordered his guards to shred me... It was betrayal, and I would have destroyed him to take the throne if Gaius and Merlin hadn't figured out a way to defeat the troll."

Lancelot's hand appeared when Arthur picked up the pitcher, grasping its handle to ease it back down. The former knight pulled the goblet out of his grip. "Come on, Arthur," he whispered. "This isn't you." Arthur covered his eyes with a hand as Lancelot set the goblet on the side table. "Your uncle tortured three men out of vengeance. He broke a boy's fingers to break a man. Brooding in this house stoking his pains drove him mad. You are not Lord Agravaine." Lancelot's hand moved to his shoulder and squeezed.

Arthur spoke in a hushed tone. "I killed him, Lancelot. My mother's brother. I took his life...and I was glad to do it."

"He fought you."

Arthur dropped his hand, staring at Lancelot through red-rimmed eyes. Lancelot grabbed his arm and directed him to the door. Arthur let himself be led, too exhausted to resist. Lancelot stopped in front of a bedroom door and pressed it open, then dragged Arthur to the end of a bed. A young man occupied it, covered over in starkly white sheets. His swollen face and numerous gashes boasted the brutality of his injuries.

Arthur moved to the side of the bed, reaching down to Elyan's limp hand. This man was as brave as his sister. What would Gwen think, what would she _feel_ , when he told her what had happened to her brother?

"This is why you had to kill him," Lancelot insisted quietly. "What you did was nothing less than justice. You're the prince. It was your right."

Lancelot's avowal, meant to give him confidence, instead dredged up another hostile event. "You didn't think that about the Druid boy." Arthur glanced over to catch Lancelot lowering guilty eyes. "As I recall, you swore to side with sorcery against me."

Lancelot's Adam's apple bobbed. "Arthur..."

"Which is it, Lancelot? Do you trust me or don't you?" He didn't mean the question to sound so bitter.

Lancelot's dark eyes jerked up sharply. "I trust you when you're thinking straight."

Even Arthur was surprised at the twitch of a smile on his own lips. That was such a Lancelot answer. He rubbed at his eyelids. Thinking on the Druid boy pushed his mind in another unwelcome direction. "How's Merlin?"

"Still unconscious," Lancelot answered with concern. "It's not a natural sleep."

"You also said..." Arthur faltered. Did he dare continue? "There are people who use magic for good."

"I did."

"Nimueh?"

"She seems to have done so. She gave Merlin the cure to heal you from poison, saved him from Aredian."

Arthur snorted. "She tried to poison me, my father, and Morgana in the first place. And Aredian, yes, but..." _Why do they defend you?_ Agravaine's question taunted him. Why _had_ Nimueh shown up? She'd restrained a bolt from smashing into his uncle's face, then let Arthur determine his fate. She hadn't seemed too concerned for his particular welfare. Merlin, on the other hand...

Arthur's curled hand ached and he realized he clenched a fist. Why did people keep claiming Merlin was a sorcerer? Aredian and now Agravaine. Sorcerers defended their own, didn't they? Arthur's heart thrummed harshly. What if Nimueh came because Merlin was... That was ludicrous. His scribe didn't have magic. He couldn't have.

Arthur marched to the door. "I want to see Merlin."

* * *

Uther stared blankly at the imprint of Gorlois' body still impressed into the sand of the arena. Even the screams of the maidservant didn't pull him out of his stupor. Instead, Gaius rushed out of the crowd, taking Gwen by the shoulders and speaking softly to calm her.

"Sire, this girl needs immediate care," he said after rolling back Gwen's right sleeve to discover a gray pallor creeping up her arm. "Sire?"

Uther heard the words, but didn't respond.

"What's wrong with him?" a guard Uther recognized queried.

"Shock," came Gaius' clipped reply. "Take Gwen to my rooms. See the king to his chambers."

"My lord." The guard's hand squeezed tightly to Uther's right forearm. "You must come away."

Uther's unfocused gaze fell on Gaius. "She's gone."

Gaius responded quietly. "Yes, sire."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

"Find her." He yanked his arm away from the gaurd, then roared. "Find her!"

"But, sire," the guard began to protest. "She's been taken by..."

"Search for her _now_!"

"Yes, sire." The guard obediently jogged towards his fellow soldiers.

"Wait!" Uther cried and the solider turned back. "Mobilize the knights. Search the citadel and towns and forests. Root out any hint of the witch. Imprison and interrogate all suspected magic collaborators."

Gaius protested. "My lord, it is unlikely Morgause has remained near. This might upset the people more than―"

Uther shook a finger in Gaius' face. "I warn you, physician, one more word and the dungeon will be too good for you."

Gaius hesitated, and Uther perceived in his squared shoulders and piercing eyes a defiance he hadn't beheld since a foreboding lecture on the dangers of utilizing magic to usurp the right of creation. The physician spoke softly, but resolutely. "If I must go to the dungeon to stop another slaughter, then so be it. This is how it started. Do not do this again. You will alienate your subjects with another purge."

Uther's cheeks flamed red. "Guard."

The guard who had received orders looked uncertainly between Gaius and his king.

"Confine this man in the stocks."

"But, sire, he's..."

"The Lady Morgana is in danger and I will not suffer the doubt of fools! Obey as you are commanded!"

"Yes, sire." Gaius didn't even look at him as the guard hauled him away.

Uther marched from the arena to join the search of the citadel, ignoring any misgiving at mercilessly punishing his oldest friend. He couldn't afford affronts to his authority, not when so much was at stake. By the gods, this was his kingdom and no one would bring it to its knees by stealing away its greatest treasures.

* * *

A great big breath and Merlin shot awake to drown in a fit of hacking coughs. Someone pulled him up by the arm and pounded him on the back so forcefully he about passed out again.

"S-top," he tried to exclaim, though the words came out too thin for a shout. He sucked in several gasping breaths. His throat burned and his fingers smarted. He looked down at his injured digits.

"Eh...about your fingers..."

The leaden hand, attached to a roguish figure perched on a chair by his beside, left his back. "Gwaine. How are you here?" He coughed again and involuntarily touched his throat. He flinched as his fingertips brushed raw skin. He was back in the guest room where Agravaine had attacked him.

"Agravaine caught us when we tried to break in. Me and Percival and Elyan."

"He what?"

Gwaine rubbed nervously at the back of his neck. "Yeah, we figured out he's the one set Elyan off on Camelot. He had us locked up for, I don't know, two or three days before you all showed up."

"I think...were you..." Merlin blinked repeatedly as he attempted to wade through foggy memory. "I was on some stairs and you were below with Percival and Elyan and...Arthur."

Gwaine nodded.

"Arthur." Merlin's mouth went dry. _He tried to kill me._ His hand went to his neck again. He didn't imagine it. The stinging rope burn that had dug into his skin left no doubt. Gwaine had been there. Why hadn't he stopped it? He'd been bound, Merlin remembered.

"I...eh...gather you weren't really conscious for a lot of what went down. I'm sure Arthur will explain, but...I needed to tell you 'I'm sorry.' I'm the one...I mean...I got your fingers broken." The last came out in a rush and Gwaine avoided his eyes.

Merlin drew his right hand up to his face. Sure enough, two fingers were splinted. He vaguely recalled having seen them bandaged before. "How?"

Gwaine hung his head. "Agravaine asked me questions. Made me talk by hurting you."

An image of Agravaine leaning over him, asking questions, and squeezing the life out of his fingers passed through his mind. The appendages twinged sharply in response to the memory and a voice hammered inside his head― _Does the prince know you're a sorcerer?_ _Can't tell him. Won't tell him._ Futility. Arthur knew.

The bedroom door swung open. "...take to Camelot, execute and..." Merlin's heart froze for a split second. Before Arthur entered fully, he stumbled out of bed and threw his hand out in front of him, wincing at the spasm in his splinted fingers. _Kill him before he kills you! Break the bond! Be free of him!_

Arthur halted when their eyes locked. "Merlin. What's going on?"

"Stay back!" Magic roiled his insides, pulsating a drumming demand to live unchained. The way was clear―Arthur would hit the wall and a quick flick of the wrist would sever his spinal cord.

Arthur raised his hands, fingers spread, and carefully approached. "Please, Merlin, back in bed."

Merlin's arm shook violently. Sparks fired through his nerves and burned his blood. _Now! Right now!_ _Don't let him get close and finish the job!_ Arthur grasped his hand; Merlin crumbled, but there was fight in him still. He bucked and thrashed and writhed, even when Arthur encircled him around the chest with his strong arms.

"Merlin!" Gwaine was there now, trying to pin his legs down and...Lancelot? They were on Arthur's side, too. Betrayal shot through him that Lancelot had chosen to turn after all this time.

"Let me go! Please! I'll leave. I won't come back. I swear!"

"Merlin!" After a bit more of a struggle, firm hands pushed him away and a hand slapped across his face. The blow wasn't hard but produced sting enough to shock him into stillness. Arthur shook his shoulders.

Tears unleashed. He was too reticent to break the bond, too weak to escape. Desperate mercy was all he had left. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He grasped Arthur's outstretched arms still on his shoulders. "I know you hate me." Sobs crescendoed. "Just don't kill me, please." Arthur's hands left his shoulders and Merlin doubled over, forehead to the floor. He felt he was going sick up all over it.

"Merlin...gods, Merlin. I didn't think...I was stupid to come in here without warning."

Something light and feathery batted against Merlin's hand. He'd squeezed his eyes shut, panting shallowly to stave off vomiting, but he knew it was Nero. The bird wriggled against him, jutting its head into the open palm of his wounded hand. Merlin lurched into a bird-eyed view of an event. He saw himself kneeling on some steps, chained like a dog and Agravaine holding the leash. Agravaine bloviated some nonsense and Arthur argued Merlin was no more a sorcerer than he was. _What? But..._ Men positioned themselves in front of Gwaine and Elyan and Percival, crossbows aloft. The vision faded when Nero's sight shifted to the sky as he flapped away.

In the present, a pair of hands on each arm pulled Merlin to his feet. His head wobbled as he saw Gwaine on one side, Lancelot on the other. Arthur stood several meters in front of him. "You... _don't_ think I'm a sorcerer."

Arthur shook his head and Merlin wondered at the unshed tears in the prince's eyes. "It was only a ploy to stop him. I thought if I played into his delusion, it would give me a chance to get us all out of this." His eyes drifted to Merlin's neck. "I did too good a job of it."

"Sire?" Leon was at the door, looking at the four of them quizzically. "Is everything all right?"

"Put him to bed. I'll speak to Leon privately." Arthur withdrew. Merlin watched him go, hardly able to put one thought in front of the other.

* * *

It was a testament to Gaius' reputation in Camelot that not one person threw anything at him in the stocks. Most stopped and stared and grumbled, shocked by this event almost as much as the happenings in the arena. Some even ventured to cleanse his sweating brow and the guard next to him grew increasingly agitated, mumbling under his breath about the indecency of trussing up the elderly physician.

For all his years, Gaius had never found himself in the stocks. Along with others he'd laughed sometimes at those secured in them. Never again. His muscles ached, his bones creaked. He wished Uther had just seen him lashed and been done with it. Intellectually, a witless thing to desire, but he'd do most anything to escape his current pain.

Was this how others had felt? Uther hadn't ever threatened him during the purge, never confined him in any way. But Gaius remembered mediocre sorcerers locked in the stocks, their magic untrained enough escape wasn't an option. The public humiliation rubbed salt in a wound as their execution always summarily followed.

 _I deserve this_ , Gaius realized with sudden clarity. His sins had found him as they had Uther. He'd stood by while so many innocent were mistreated, safe in his renunciation of magic and the esteem of his king. This time he hadn't ignored the chill running down his spine at the wild look in Uther's eyes, the same that had consumed their king after Ygraine perished. His eyes misted and he shuddered. Morgana's disappearance could cause it all to happen again.

Gaius sighed resignedly as his lungs ached with every breath. If another purge began, it was fitting he play the role of the first victim, but he'd be damned if he let anyone reach the chopping block without just cause.

* * *

Merlin calmed as Gwaine and Lancelot related all the events he'd either missed or been hardly conscious to remember. Taken as a whole, the story was one of a madman, Arthur's paranoid uncle. It wasn't until Lancelot mentioned Nimueh, however, that the words she'd made Merlin repeat returned to consciousness. He should tell Arthur, but his gut twisted at even thinking of seeing the prince again, which didn't matter of course, when the door to his room opened once more and Arthur was there.

"The physician is here," he reported. "He's tending Elyan."

Gwaine immediately stood and smiled down at Merlin. "If he tries to strangle you again, yell."

Merlin smiled back, but wasn't sure his expression convinced Gwaine or himself. Gwaine paused next to Arthur, and Merlin caught the low chide crafted as teasing but holding a hint of threat. "Next time, warn him before you decide to almost kill him."

Lancelot didn't budge from his chair by the bed, looking at Arthur then Merlin. "I don't have to go."

Merlin didn't really want him to, but he also didn't want to look a silly child, especially in front of Arthur. And what sense did that make, fearing the prince and desperately seeking his pride at the same time?

"I'm good." He dearly wished Will had come. His hometown friend would have arrogantly told Arthur to shove off. Then again, Will might have attacked Arthur, too, or blurted out the secret. He guessed he didn't want Will present after all. Lancelot had transported his friend back to Ealdor after the Mordred event, determining his life too dangerous even for a willing tag-along.

Lancelot rose, walked to the doorway and sent a pointed look at Arthur before departing. Arthur moved towards the bed but left the door open, perhaps a courtesy to Merlin's skittishness. Neither spoke for a full minute until Arthur sighed. "I'm always promising not to hurt you and then doing it, aren't I?"

Merlin unconsciously cupped a hand to his neck. "It's okay."

"Don't do that," Arthur said vehemently.

"Do what?"

"Forgive me so easily. You _always_ do that."

"You don't _want_ me to forgive you?"

Arthur threw a hand out. "I always feel I deserve some kind of penance, like I've downed a unicorn on a hunt or something."

Merlin's mouth curled upwards and he rolled his eyes. "You're comparing me to a unicorn?"

"It seemed to fit." Arthur stared wonderingly at him and Merlin quailed a little under his gaze. "Why did Agravaine think you a sorcerer?"

Merlin wrung his hands on the hem of the bedsheets. He hadn't thought up a lie for that one yet. "I don't know. I was here and he came in the door and he..." One eye lighted on Nero nestled next to him. He'd been pained when he observed the kestrel's limp and discovered a twisted leg. He hadn't been the only magic being scathed in the chaos of Lord Agravaine. "Started raving about Nero being a witchfinder's bird," Merlin finished quickly.

Arthur seemed to weigh his answer, his analytical brow scrunched up like it did when the prince observed his weapons training. "I suppose such a thing might set him off, he was so addled in mind." He pointed at the chair by the bed. "May I?"

"You don't need to ask permission."

"I don't want you fleeing to the other side of the room."

"I won't."

Arthur approached and sat gingerly. "I'm sorry if this feels like an interrogation." Merlin shrugged. Arthur continued. "Nimueh showed up to aid you. That's a second time. Why?"

"I think she likes me."

"She's too old for you."

Merlin's eyes widened and he guffawed. Arthur smiled. Okay, so the joke did put him more at ease as he assumed Arthur had intended. "I honestly don't know why she shows up when she does."

Arthur nodded slowly as if he empathized with the confusion.

"But she did tell me something. She said we had to go back to Camelot. Morgana is in danger."

Arthur's brows met. "Anything else?"

"She mentioned a woman. I think she might want to do something to Morgana."

"Who?" Arthur's eyes had gone fiery.

"Morgause de Bois."

"de Bois." Oh. Yeah. de Bois. Agravaine's family name. This couldn't be coincidence. Arthur jumped to his feet, bolting for the door.

Merlin slid out of bed, but Arthur whirled around. "What are you doing?"

"Getting ready to go. You're going back, right?"

"You're going to be seen by the physician and stay here."

"Arthur..."

"It's an order, Merlin! Let him fix the damage I've done to you for both our sakes." And he was gone.

* * *

Nimueh trudged on sorely throbbing legs. Too much of that cursed whirlwind spell. It had spit her out into a clump of bushes, leaving her with numerous scratches she was too tried to magic away. She halted in front of two large trees, bent towards each other, forming a dense wall of foliage. She wasn't sure if Morgause had conjured them herself, but they made a perfect hidden entrance to their little valley.

" _Onhlíd pone ingang_." The trees rustled away from each, bending opposite directions. Nimueh continued on, plodding another good ten minutes until she reached the blessed hovel. She laughed to herself. She was more exhausted than she thought if seeing this place comforted her spirits. She entered to dim gloom.

" _Fobearnan_." Light ignited in the raised fire pit. Morgause wasn't back yet. Well, it shouldn't be too long. Then they could discuss the next part of the plan. Nimueh sighed. She'd already wearied of walking a tightrope. She'd never been very subtle in nature; all her mentors complained about her frank manner. Still, necessary self-preservation during the purge increased her guile. Now, she could lie and sneak her way through practically anything like Morgause.

Nimueh slumped onto her cot, aged hands folded in her lap, eyes closed. Unfortunately, Morgause lusted after more than was appropriate. Revenge on Uther, yes, Nimueh understood that. The need for such was why she'd offered herself in the first place, but Morgana, no. Morgana was in no way ready for what Morgause meant to thrust upon her. Even if she had been, the prophecy of the warlock and the golden king remained an obstacle. She hadn't yet told Morgause she could identify Emrys. Everything within her rebelled at sacrificing the boy for their gain. Like Agravaine had intended to do. And Aredian. Emrys was already exploited for his power even though he hadn't released the enormity of it yet.

Tiny hands laid atop her own. They weren't really there, but she nursed the illusion she'd fallen into so many times over the years. _Mummy? I made flowers for you._ Her dark-haired boy who possessed powers to do anything crafted flowers instead. Even as he grew to a man, he always used his skills for good, even created his own strict moral code. One day she'd found him laying by the roadside, bleeding at the temple. _Why didn't you stop them?_ she'd asked. The thieves had taken off with all his coin. _I fought back,_ he'd insisted. _With your hands, not your magic,_ she'd chastised. _Doesn't seem very fair to blast people who're starving to death._ That heart of gold. He'd been too good for a mother like her.

Nimueh's eyelids fluttered open. She wasn't simpleminded. She acknowledged she offered herself as Emrys' mentor to recapture a modicum of what she'd lost. He wasn't her child, but oh, if she could recover even the smallest sense of days gone by...

Nimueh's drifting gaze fell on a small folded parchment resting atop her pillow. A message from Morgause. She picked it up and unfolded it on her knees.

 _Nimueh,_

 _No, I don't utilize your title. You have no right to it. You display reticence to do what must be done. In fact, I believe you are undermining me, though proof has been elusive. So I have kept my own secrets from you. Uther will break. That's all you ever wanted anyway. As for the Lady Morgana, I have taken her into my service and through her I will achieve the greatest act of our age. Don't try to fight against me. You only destroy yourself._

 _Morgause_

Nimueh stared at the paper. The girl had outmaneuvered her. She crushed the parchment in a fist and sent it into the flaming fire. Then she screamed so loud the hovel shook to its foundations.

* * *

Arthur had left Leon with instructions regarding the overseeing of the de Bois estate. In spite of his wounded shoulder, the knight had already evaluated the servants and hired hands, determining which ones had been involved in Agravaine's plot. Very few in actuality. These had been imprisoned and would be transported to Camelot for trials of treason when Arthur sent a contingent to collect them.

Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival would remain hidden inside the manor house for now. He wasn't going to toss them back over the border after they'd been tortured for him.

"Pay any expense you must to see to their needs," he'd said as he climbed up onto his horse outside the de Bois stables.

"Yes, sire," Leon had replied.

A snorting horse behind Arthur had signaled Lancelot was ready. He'd peered over his shoulder at the man whose loyalty he still had after everything. He'd shared Nimueh's assertion Morgana was in danger. Lancelot made it out to the stables before he'd tracked down Leon to inform him of their departure.

"Arthur!"

Arthur had growled. "Merlin! Get back to the house."

"I think I'm supposed to come with you."

"You can hardly walk." The boy barely kept his feet. He would have fallen over if Leon hadn't caught his elbow. His fingers had been bandaged anew and a white cloth lathered in salve wrapped around his neck to heal the bruised strangulation mark.

"Obey me for once."

"If I don't?" Merlin had challenged.

Arthur had ground his jaw. "You don't care for yourself, I know. So. Sir Leon, I order you to keep my scribe confined to these lands. If you fail in your duty, the punishment will be severe." Arthur's triumphant eyes turned back to Merlin who grimaced. "I assume you care enough about Leon not to push it."

He'd swung his horse around and galloped away. That had been hours ago. He'd half-expected Merlin to show up anyway, but there were no signs of the lad. Good. He'd finally managed to make the boy submit to a verbal command to keep his backside out of things.

Conversation with Lancelot had been minimal, the strain of the last few days dampening any joviality. Only when they made camp for the night did Lancelot pipe up, asking a question Arthur had wished left alone.

"What if Merlin did have magic?"

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, concentrating even more on his thin knife dividing fur from the flesh of a hare.

"If Agravaine had been right, what would you have done?"

Arthur fumbled the knife, nicking a finger. He hissed and pressed the shallow cut into the knee of his trousers. Did Lancelot divine what troubled the deepest recesses of his mind? "You're trying to sway me again with hypothetical questions."

"What's your answer?"

 _I don't want to tell you because..._ No. He wouldn't consider it. Merlin was innocent. Always had been. "He's not a sorcerer, so it doesn't matter."

"But―"

"Let it go," Arthur warned. The former knight didn't speak again until morning.

* * *

Uther wearily stumbled into his chamber. He dismissed his manservant, forewent any wash up, and grabbed a goblet of wine, sinking into a leather cushioned chair. The searches had all proved fruitless. His Morgana was gone. Gone! And he hadn't told her the truth.

The old crone's judgment grated in his ear once more: _You have been weighed, Uther Pendragon, and found wanting!_ He set the goblet on the floor and stared into the hearth-fire, the only source of light in the dark room. Why did fate make him suffer so? So he'd erred. Everyone did. Why single him out for continual torment? Nothing he did alleviated his miseries.

Flickering flames snapped and popped. How many times had he and Gorlois communed over a fire? Too many to count since they met as squires. If he had known their friendship would lead to the desecration of the man in death, would he have taken up the fight for Camelot and the mantle of its rule? Uther bowed his head into his hands. He wasn't sure anymore.

"Hello, Uther."

Uther startled, leaping to his feet, spilling the goblet's contents onto the polished floor. "Who's here?"

"You don't recognize me?"

An electric tremor jolted from his heart through his limbs. "Where are you?"

"Where you you can't stop seeing me."

Uther didn't dare breathe as his gaze traveled to the broad four-poster bed. A frosty white figure reclined against the headboard, gaunt cheeked, long hair disheveled, crystalline blue eyes sunk into wide sockets.

"You see me here, don't you? All the time. Dying when my son took his first wailing breath."

Uther lost his balance and lurched for the bed, scrunching the gold embroidered coverlet to remain upright.

"You made a deal with hell to get what you wanted." Her tone didn't recriminate, but that hurt worse. The monotone, objective statement voided her of the emotion he'd cherished in her. "I paid for it."

"I...didn't...I...meant to..." Uther stammered.

"You still link your chains to damnation. Your ambition and fear strip my son bare."

Arthur, the condemnation he leveled against him, the arguments between them, the bloody stripes welted into his back.

"You will see me soon and rob my peace."

Her words were a dagger through his ribs.

"You used me. A beloved possession, a route to an heir."

"No. No."

She smiled, displaying yellowed teeth. "You shared Vivienne's bed."

Uther gaped.

"You betrayed a good man, corrupting yourself." She shimmered and groaned.

"Ygraine!"

Her mouth widened, exposing a rotted throat, and a shriek ushered forth. Uther covered his ears. Not this sound. Not again. From this bed, soaked through with blood when a baby cried. The scream grew to a fevered pitch, then his beloved's body burst into ash. Uther lowered his hands, stared unblinking at the aftermath, and collapsed into the pool of dark red wine.

* * *

Merlin managed to saddle Lebryt even though his legs still weren't working well. He suspected the weakness a residual effect of whatever Agravaine had shoved down him to diminish his magic. Arthur's departure had left him to ponder and worry without distraction. He'd laid in his comfortable bed, sorrowing at Nero hobbling around on his crippled leg, ruminating on the damage Arthur admitted he'd caused. Arthur was always sorry as he was always forgiving, but it should have been the other way around.

Merlin was the deceiver, the coward that let his prince, his _friend_ , act in ignorance. Maybe if he'd confessed by now, things would have turned out differently. He could have already accessed the mighty power he was said to possess. He couldn't kill Arthur so he had one choice―to tell him.

Merlin gripped Lebryt's saddle, but found his foot didn't want to lift into the stirrup.

"Thought I'd find you here." Leon.

Merlin slowly turned. "I...I'm..."

"So, you'd let me suffer for losing you."

Merlin scowled. "He wouldn't do anything to you."

"You're certain?" Leon asked, though his mouth turned upwards.

"He only said that to make me think he would. He's more fair than that."

Leon stepped towards him. Merlin froze. Would the knight fight him? Throw him over his shoulder and haul him back to the house?

Leon knelt down on one knee. "Put your foot here."

Merlin grinned. He used the knight's knee as a stool and the man even steadied his ascent with a stabilizing hand on his leg.

"You're sure you won't fall off and truly earn me retribution?" Leon asked when he stood back up.

"I'm fine."

"Then tell Arthur he can throw me in the dungeon when I get back," Leon smirked.

Merlin nodded and galloped away from the stables.

* * *

His ride was hard and more than a day in the journey. He fretted the whole way. Nimueh had said only he could stop this Morgause de Bois and implied he'd need the full extent of his magic. But every time he envisaged Arthur combined with the words, "I have magic," his hands grew clammy and his heart skipped beats.

The gates appeared before him. _Stop thinking! Stop feeling! Just find him. Tell him. Say it_. He dismounted without waiting for anyone to take Lebryt's reins and missed the drawn, anxious faces of those crossing the courtyard. He sprinted up the steps. Where would Arthur be?

A couple servants he stopped were unsure, but a knight intervened to direct him toward the king's chambers. He ignored the knight shouting something further when he bolted down the hall. He couldn't tell Arthur in front of the king. Change of plans. Get him in the hall into privacy, then tell him.

He reached the chamber. The door was open. He slowed. This was the moment. _Stop thinking!_ He picked up his pace again, careening into the room.

"Arthur! I have to talk to you..."

Arthur sat in a leather cushioned chair, head bowed. The king lay in his bed, gray faced, eyes open but staring at nothing, his lips moving wordlessly. Gaius, looking fatigued and pained, leaned over the king. Arthur's head lifted a fraction. "Merlin. Of course." No reprimand, just an observation.

"What happened?" Merlin asked breathlessly.

"A witch." That was bitter. "Gwen's lost the use of her arm. Morgana's been taken. And my father..." Arthur's voice choked with tears. "He's now this."

Merlin stared, not a word he'd planned finding purchase on his lips. Arthur slowly rose to his full stature. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to find the witch and crush her." He stomped away without giving Merlin a second glance.

"Gaius?" the stymied boy pleaded helplessly.

The physician moved toward him, then stumbled. Merlin ran to his side, leaning into him. "Are you all right?" He noted the old man's paleness and an inexplicable deepening of his wrinkled skin.

"I'll live."

"What's wrong with the king?"

"Too much, my boy. Magic has grown strong enough to seize recompense."

* * *

Morgause listened at the door. Morgana was demanding her release again. She'd refused to eat until they let her go. That wouldn't last long. She should go inside and reason with the woman again.

"High priestess." A girl approached her and bowed.

"What is it?"

"Someone waits in your chamber."

"Very well." The woman scampered off. Morgause ambled along, taking her time. Perhaps one of the kings had arrived to complain about her handling of the Camelot affair. None of them had the vision nor patience needed for the outworking of her efforts. She constantly feared their greed would ruin all.

She reached her room, more ornamented than the others, but still underground and smelling of damp earth. A nondescript young man stood up when she entered. "Why are you here?" Straight to the point.

"Lord Agravaine is dead."

Morgause raised an eyebrow. This one didn't mince words either. "How?"

"Arthur Pendragon."

She hadn't thought anyone could say anything that would surprise her more.

"He showed up a week ago and Agravaine imprisoned him and..."

"Fool!" Morgause spat. He deserved to die if he'd done that. "I know the rest. Thought to make his own plans and take Camelot by himself."

The man cringed and bowed his head. "Yes, my lady."

"Does Arthur Pendragon know of the alliance?"

"I gathered all the documents before I fled."

Morgause accepted the bag the man held out. Maybe he could be of more use to her. "You did well. Go. Get fed. Stay near. I might have need of you."

"I live to serve."

Morgause smiled as he retreated. Yes, this one could be hers. She unbuckled the satchel and withdrew sheaves of paper and a book. Intrigued, she lifted the cover. Agravaiane's journal. She thumbed through it, getting angrier by the second. It was all here, laid out for anyone to stumble upon―meetings, dates, conspirators. She was glad Agravaine had been killed. He had been a liability they couldn't afford, though she'd miss his amassed assets. She read the last entry.

 _Emrys is mine. Through him, I will forge a kingdom to envy, ruled by a true leader, not a selfish tyrant or a vengeful witch. Camelot will rise from its ashes like the phoenix of old._

Emrys? Agravaine had him within his grasp and withheld him from her? Morgause slapped the journal down onto her desk. Curse him and his pride!

She took several long breaths to steady herself. Emrys was out there, somewhere. Imagine such a powerful ally at the head of her army, laying waste to thousands with merely a thought. It was only a matter of time before he arrived on her doorstep, eager to scour the kingdom clean. And if he didn't, well, there were ways of tracking sorcerers down.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** End of Year 3! Thanks to everyone who's still reading and so, so, so sorry for teasing the reveal again. I totally know exactly where it will be and how it will come about and I swear it is coming soon. Very excited to get to Year 4. If it had a tagline, it would be, "When Everything Changes."


	73. Forbidden Secrets

**Year Four**

"It's pretty tonight."

"Mm hm."

"I love being with you."

"Mm."

"Merlin?"

"Hm?"

"Are you listening to me?"

"Er, yeah." Merlin turned his attention to the dark haired girl balancing on the peaked citadel roof with the same ease as he, knees pulled into her chest, arms braced behind her, long braid trailing down her back.

"You're not." She smiled, but with sadness and sympathy, maybe even pity.

"I'm sorry." He looked away and downward, from the twinkling night sky to the glow of flickering candles or hearths in the homes below.

"I'm sorry nothing's better." She leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Me, too," he whispered and sighed. Five months had passed since they'd returned from Lord Agravaine's lands. Five months of trying to function as if nothing were amiss. Five months of fruitless searches. Five more months he'd not told Arthur the truth.

It was Arthur that most weighed on him tonight. Ever since King Uther had become "indisposed," Arthur had acted as prince regent. No one was sure exactly what had happened to Uther. Most attributed his to condition to the harrowing combat with the strange rusted knight his niece Morgause had manipulated him into facing. Arthur had assumed his uncle and cousin in league and had scoured Agravaine's manor for information that might reveal how to heal his father or where Morgana had been taken. Nothing had turned up.

Merlin had employed his own avenues. Kilgharrah had flown from one end of Camelot to the other at Merlin's request, but no hint of Morgana or Morgause revealed itself even to his great magic. Kilgharrah surmised them magically concealed, and he fretted Morgause meant to corrupt Morgana's seeing ability to her advantage. Maybe she was, but Merlin couldn't do anything about it if he couldn't find her.

And then there was Gwen. More than anything he wanted to tell her the truth and attempt to heal her wounded arm. She worked around the injury to the best of her ability, but watching her struggle hurt. Even if he did tell her, her healing wasn't guaranteed anyway. Maybe he'd get her hopes up just to dash them away.

"You don't have to tell him." Freya spoke so softly, gently. Merlin tipped his own head to lay atop hers.

"I have to."

"But you keep beating yourself up for delaying."

"It's just it has to be the right time." He'd almost told Arthur about his magic on his fifteenth birthday. Arthur had carved time out of his overwhelming schedule to ride with him. There hadn't been time for much more than "congratulations" and a gift, a well crafted inkwell and set of quills that Arthur insisted weren't to be used for official documents but Merlin's own pursuits, whatever they may be. Merlin hadn't told him he used them mainly to write secret letters he handed over to the girl next to him whenever she came to visit. It seemed the best way to keep her up-to-date.

When Arthur had given him the gift and a rare smile in these dark days, he'd opened and shut his mouth several times, and Arthur had called him a dying fish, and the only phrase he'd been able to stammer was "thank you." A better moment hadn't presented itself yet and he sometimes wondered if it ever would.

"There won't ever be a _perfect_ time," Freya counseled.

"Probably not," Merlin admitted. Not in Camelot, a place under continual assault from the worst magic had to offer. He didn't blame Arthur for his negative views of magic. Arthur still maintained sorcerers whose only crime was magical practice should be afforded a chance to renounce their misdeeds, but recent events cemented his certainty that magic led to corruption. He always shut down any further discussion on the issue, asserting things like, "My father enacted the laws against magic for a reason," and presuming the conversation over.

Freya shifted and Merlin raised his head to gaze on her again. "Let's fly." Her face began to blacken and Merlin permitted himself a smile. She never left without a moment like this between them. In mere seconds a bastet stood next to him, arching her back in a stretch. When she swung her head around, a toothy cat grin he could never deny forced his smile wider. Freya wiggled her back end, and Merlin climbed on. He'd never forget when she first suggested this. He'd been afraid to hurt her. She'd laughed, transformed, and lunged, sliding under his legs and lifting him with ease.

Merlin's eyes glimmered briefly, securing his seat on the bastet like an invisible glue. He leaned forward to entwine his fingers in the silky fur of her back. She purred lightly and then leaped. No matter how many times he did this, it was always heart-stopping springing into nothing until Freya skimmed over the town and away into the trees, and the glorious rush of flight took over. He beamed and breathed deeply of fresh wind whipping against his hair and cheeks. When he grew comfortable enough, he let go her fur and extended his arms away from his body, closing his eyes. He wished they could live this way forever, both of them flying above the earth, untethered from its worries and pains.

After a time, the flap of larger wings than a bastet's sounded to his right and he greeted the newcomer without opening his eyes. "Hey, Kilgharrah." He lowered his hands back into Freya's fur.

The dragon rumbled deep in his throat, an indication of disapproval. When he'd first caught them doing this he'd launched into a lecture, declaring dragonlords never hitched rides on bastets. Such a thing was beneath the dignity of the entire race. Then Merlin asked if dragonlords rode dragons and Kilgharrah answered, "Of course," then looked chagrined and promptly snapped his scaly mouth shut to speak no more on the subject.

"Young warlock, I think you command more loyalty from my bastet than I do."

The cat beneath him growled. Merlin grinned and finally opened his eyes to peer at dragon scales reflecting the starry night. Kilgharrah's head was somewhere up ahead beyond his sight. "She doesn't agree."

"Humph," Kilgharrah intoned, his voice drifting back on the wind. "She endangers herself every time she comes here."

"She's dark as midnight. No one ever sees her."

"It only takes once."

"And how smart is it for a great big hulking _dragon_ to come to Camelot to look for her?"

"Younglings," Kilgharrah grumbled.

"Is father here?" Merlin asked, ignoring the insult.

"No. One of us must remain to protect the eggs."

"No one's found them in how long?" Merlin protested.

"It is a dragonlord's duty and your father is sworn to it."

"Yeah." As he was expected to be some day, hopefully a long time from now. He didn't relish the idea of sitting around in an empty dragonlord sanctuary day in and out. Balinor took frequent jaunts to Ealdor, though. That thought made Merlin happy. His father kept him informed about his mother. He hadn't said anything to indicate they had renewed their romantic relationship, but Merlin put that down to desires for privacy. Merlin sighed. If only he could set aside destiny and experience a real family for once―his father, his mother, and him―absent the fear of death or dark magic.

"Time passes. Freya must return home."

The bastet rumbled underneath him and Merlin pressed gently into her fur. Kilgharrah was right. She turned, banking a wide arc back towards the citadel.

* * *

Arthur awoke to the first light of day filtering through a gap in a window's heavy drawn curtains. He rolled his neck and stretched aching, stiff limbs. He'd fallen asleep in the chair again. The release of a soft breath drew his attention to the bed and the man sheltered in it. "Father." Uther remained asleep, and Arthur set his elbows on his knees and head in his hands. Five months his father had been incoherent. Five months he hadn't figured out how to restore the king or his ward.

The shock of the events had worn off, but their stressful outcomes continued. Arthur recalled riding into a strangely subdued Camelot on his return from Agravaine's lands. Citizens withheld customary greetings to send him furtive glances of confusion or sorrow. His head ached in fear by time he reached the courtyard and was met by a knight who launched into an explanation of what had happened while he'd been gone. His heart had sunk, his stomach lurched. While he'd been suffering a personal hell, Camelot had been forced through its own. When he finally made it to his father's bed, he found him senseless, muttering disjointed words and unattended by a proper physician because his blasted pride had dumped his longest supporter in the stocks.

Gaius, he was informed, had stood in the stocks for two hours and then been locked in the dungeon, all because he'd objected to his father's course of action. Arthur had run to the dungeon and ordered Gaius' immediate release. Following the guard to the physician's cell, he had found the old man hardly cognizant. Arthur had aided Gaius to his own chamber and done what he could to help him recover enough to attend his father.

Arthur lifted his head to look on Uther. He was his father, for good or ill, and he loved him, but the man's ill choices led to such dire consequences. Arthur traced the worn lines on his father's face. He'd aged ten years these last five months. Arthur wiped at his brow, noting newly developed lines on his own person as well. Responsibility had aged him, too, thrust as he was into running the kingdom well before intended He'd observed his father's rule, of course, been taught the necessary skills, but experience was another thing altogether. Some days he selfishly wanted his father back simply to shoulder the burden of the kingdom once more.

Arthur gradually rose from his chair. And then there was Morgana. He'd failed to discover any trace of her. He continued to send patrols on searches, riding with them when able. The first few times they'd returned without Morgana, he'd excused himself to his chambers where he'd wept in frustration. His world had been upended, the ground collapsed under his feet when the two people who'd composed his family were ripped away from him. Except for Merlin.

Arthur moved to the curtains and pulled them back to peer out on a bright morning. Merlin wasn't really family. Just a boy he'd happened to pick up. Well, more was fated to, perhaps. Fate. He'd thought a lot about the concept recently. He should get back to his chambers and...

"Oh. Arthur."

Arthur turned weary eyes on a welcome sight, his heart pattering as it was wont to do when the maidservant appeared. "Guinevere."

She frowned at him. "You slept here again, didn't you?" He nodded. "You shouldn't do that. You need your strength."

The girl moved into the room, carrying a tray one handed that she slid onto the table. As she approached the bed to assess Uther, Arthur scanned her limp arm, the one that had touched the witch's whirlwind in an attempt to save Morgana. Gaius couldn't explanation why all life had been drained from the limb, hand to elbow, leaving it ashen gray and useless.

"I can see to him," Arthur offered.

"You have too much to do," Gwen argued as she readjusted sheets around the king. The king's manservant would arrive soon. They would aid the king when he awoke, dress him, saw he ate, then Gwen would take his arm and walk him up and down the halls in discreet areas where he wouldn't be viewed by many. Uther let her direct him as if he were a small child barely aware of his surroundings.

Arthur paced over to the bed, standing behind her. "Gwen, you don't have to do this."

"Stop asking me not to."

"I'm grateful, but you need to see to yourself."

She rounded on him. "What would you have me do? Go home to face my father's pitied gaze, feel the dead cold of it, ponder how little I can offer anyone?"

Arthur swallowed hard. He hadn't directly talked to her about her injury except to express how sorry he was, and she had brushed him off, saying, "Don't concern yourself with me." Her dismissal of his care struck a deeper blow than a sword ever could.

Arthur reached out and she flinched back. "Please...let me touch you."

"I can't, Arthur. You know that. I couldn't before and not now especially because, because..." She glared at her arm.

"You think I'd stop caring about you because you've been hurt?" Arthur snapped unintentionally and Gwen responded just as shortly.

"You respected my skill with the sword, and now...but it doesn't matter. It doesn't." She headed towards the chamber door, but Arthur pulled her into his chest by the shoulders.

"I'd want you no matter what skills you had or what you looked like. Nothing has changed your heart, Gwen. That's what matters to me. You're the only one brings me any comfort right now. Watching you tend him...devote yourself...for me."

She shook in his grasp, but relented, leaning her forehead against him. "Maybe I only do it for our king," she mumbled into his shirt, one she had made out of gifted cloth.

"You would have aided him if I'd asked, but I know you, Guinevere. You don't let me suffer alone."

"Arthur, we can't."

"I'll say no more," he promised, but held her tightly still, savoring the moment until the door opened to admit the king's manservant.

* * *

Gaius shuffled across his chamber, pausing to rest a hand on a table, inhale deeply, and rub at his sore back. He'd evaluated himself in a detached way months ago. His turn in the stocks and a damp dungeon had done his elderly body no favors. He hurt daily now and could only stave away the pain when he dared ingest enough medicine. His lungs felt watery and pressed inward most of the time and he wearied quickly. Uther's punishment had dragged him closer to death's door.

Gaius reached his work table. He removed a vial heating over a candle's flame and poured its contents into a bowl. A white powder shaken into the liquid and stirred turned the contents violet. Gaius slumped onto a tall stool. The mixture needed to cool. A fluttering of wings announced the arrival of a kestrel who hobbled along the edge of the worktable and stopped to knock its beak on the wooden bowl. Gaius snorted and cupped a hand under the bird, lifting him onto his shoulder. He scooped out a bit of raw meat from another bowl, nudging the bird with his open palm until Nero eagerly devoured the treat in its center.

"We're a crippled pair," Gaius muttered. "But useful still, aren't we?" Wasn't he?

Some who'd sympathized with him had expressed their disdain for their king, but Gaius hadn't managed to despise Uther. On the contrary, he attended the king with the same diligence as before. Those who wondered at his loyalty hadn't his experiences to judge by. They hadn't tended a king gravely wounded protecting his infant son or witnessed him weeping daily after the horrific death of his wife. Oh, he wasn't pleased with Uther nor convinced he had done right, but he had observed the light of love and faith that once burned brightly in their king fade into depression and fear. He'd seen such a change in patients before, those who faced battle and returned forever altered. Uther, along with Nimueh, had played with fire and it had consumed them.

 _And what did I do but let the flames burn unhindered?_ Any little thing he'd done to combat Uther's injustice couldn't soothe his conscience. It shouldn't. He thought it likely all of them who'd had a hand in the events of the Purge suffered rightly.

Nero nipped lightly at Gaius' neck and the physician idly procured another meat treat. In light of their failure, Gaius clung to destiny. It shouldered their wrong actions and ill choices and wrought something good. On that most horrible of nights, Arthur had been born, and Merlin had made his appearance nine years later when a fleeing dragonlord had found love in the arms of a peasant. Evil hadn't utterly demolished hope.

Gaius straightened in his seat. This was why he wouldn't let himself die. He lived to play his part in the rising of the golden prince and the greatest warlock of the age.

"Gaius," a sleepy voice mumbled as footsteps plunked down the steps from his room.

Gaius peered at the boy whose raven hair stuck up every which way. He smiled, amused. Greatest warlock indeed.

"I wondered something." Merlin wandered over to Gaius.

"Your breakfast is on the table."

Merlin glanced at it and then back. "Could I talk to Morgana like Mordred talks to me?"

"I'm not sure." Gaius raised his skeptical right eyebrow. "Morgana is only a seer with nowhere near the magic you possess."

"But she does have a kind of magic. If I could talk to her, I could ask her where she is."

"You might have to be quite near her to communicate."

"Kilgharrah talks to me over long distances."

"But not Mordred. I assume you haven't heard his voice recently."

Merlin deflated a little. "No." His blue eyes flashed. "But it's worth a try if it works."

"I suppose so."

Merlin's mouth firmed into a determined line.

"Have you forgotten Morgana doesn't even know of your magic?"

Merlin, who had moved to the table, sat down and picked up his spoon. "I didn't forget."

"You feel it's time to reveal yourself to her?"

Merlin looked over at the physician. "If I don't, we'll never find her. I have to do it, Gaius."

Gaius' voice grew soft. "Perhaps you should tell Arthur of your ability first."

Merlin dipped his spoon into his bowl. "I can't do that yet."

"You can't wait forever."

"I know that," Merlin snapped, then shoved morning porridge into his mouth. He chewed quickly and swallowed. "But no one gets to tell me when." He angrily smashed his spoon back into the bowl.

Gaius shut his open mouth. He wasn't really sure how to deal with the angst of youth. His own experiences of such an age were too long ago to be of much help. Besides, Merlin was right. It was his choice when and if to say something to Arthur, but Gaius had begun to fear what might come of this generation's secrets when those of their elders had shattered a kingdom.

* * *

Lancelot halted in front of a white canvas draped over several low hanging branches to form a tent, trying and failing to quell his anticipation. An aged woman pulled back a portion to grant him entry. A younger figure lay on the far side, back to him, and Lancelot's heart jolted to observe a mass of long, dark hair flowing almost to the waist. The tattered, worn dress hugging the slim form spoke of immense hardship. The older woman tapped the shoulder of the younger, awakening her. The figure's head lifted and the elderly woman pointed to Lancelot. The young woman sat up and...turned grey eyes on him.

Lancelot's heart sank and acidic bile churned in his gut. "It's not her."

The Druid at his side thanked the older woman, then backtracked with the former knight, letting the tent flap fall once they exited. "I'm sorry, my friend. I had hoped for both our sakes they had found the Lady Morgana."

"So did I." Lancelot picked his way through the unfamiliar encampment. He hadn't even known this one existed, nestled at the back of a mountain and concealed by thick forest. Aglain kept pace with him. Hostile glances sent their way lingered on Lancelot rather than the Druid. "They don't like me much."

"They rarely permit outsiders," Aglain explained.

"Thank you for convincing them to let me in."

"I desire her found same as you."

Lancelot nodded, but didn't believe it. Aglain's desire could never rival his. _You don't love her like I do. No one does._ "I'll be on my way, then," Lancelot said when they reached the tree he'd tied his horse to.

"Lancelot," Aglain spoke quietly and earnestly, "I must warn you."

Lancelot gathered Pomers' reins in his hand. "About what?"

"My people...some of them are...changing."

Lancelot creased his brow. "How so?"

Aglain's wise eyes held his own. "Morgause achieved the deposition of Uther Pendragon. There are some among us..." Aglain perched his hands on his hips and pursed his lips. "Some say this is the time to demand justice."

Lancelot cocked his head. "They intend to bring their grievances before Arthur?"

Aglain shook his head sorrowfully. "They argue for retribution. That your prince should be brought down as his father."

Lancelot stared, disbelieving. "You've always insisted on the peace of your people."

"Most still seek peace, but some fan the flames of bitterness, passing through the camps and preaching a time of justice."

"You mean revenge."

Aglain sighed. "Yes."

Lancelot clenched his jaw. "Will they attack Arthur?"

"They face enough opposition at the moment from our elders, but I felt you should know their discontent is taking dangerous shape."

Lancelot nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you again."

"Have you spoken further to your king about magic?"

Lancelot mounted Pomers. "He doesn't listen these days." His eyes pleaded with Algain. "Don't tell your people that. Tell them instead Arthur has a good heart and can be persuaded. He'll come around."

"I believe and hope this is so, though I fear his persuasion may not come soon enough."

* * *

Gwaine stretched his arms above his head and yawned loudly. A new day, bright, fresh, providing just enough chill in the air to invigorate.

"You're in the fields today."

Gwaine dropped his arms. "You do know I'm royalty. I'm not meant for fields."

Percival laughed. "Does it count as royal when your father won't acknowledge your existence?"

"For all you know I'll return home someday to a hero's welcome and they'll install me on the throne."

"That will be the day," a third voice spoke as its owner stepped onto the balcony that rimmed the second floor of the mansion de Bois. Gwaine greeted Elyan with a wave of his hand and noted the parchments clasped in his hands. He'd taken Arthur's charge to assess the state of Agravaine's lands to heart, preparing weekly reports based on his findings.

"What now?" Gwaine asked, pointing at the parchments.

"Livestock assessment. There's barely enough for the village to survive into winter. Agravaine diverted too many funds to 'other things.'"

"Such as?" Percvial asked.

"There isn't any record indicating where his coin went, but I think I know."

"War on Pendragons," the large man guessed.

Elyan nodded.

Gwaine frowned. "Do you think we should go back to Camelot? From what I hear, Uther's insensible and I doubt anyone else would care about our exile."

"It's too much of a risk," Elyan disagreed.

"But―"

"Gwaine," Elyan reprimanded. "You go back and you make everything worse for Arthur. We've done enough damage." He turned away, leaving Gwaine with Percival who rested a hand on the smaller man's shoulder.

"He wants to be with his sister, not just receive letters from her," Percival intuited.

"And he doesn't want to be the cause of any more trouble for the prince," Gwaine finished. Neither did he, but hanging out on these lands running the place instead of helping Arthur keep his kingdom from shattering felt trivial.

"Fields."

"Fields," Gwaine repeated with a sigh.

* * *

Merlin slowed when he reached the hall to Arthur's chamber. He'd already had one uncomfortable encounter and wasn't looking forward to another. He'd come upon Gwen while headed this way, toting a stack of linens one handed. He'd offered to help. She'd scowled and told him she could manage just fine and moved on. He'd let his gaze trail after her. Another thing he couldn't fix. Her wounded arm, Gaius said, was magically altered, the very life drained from it. He doubted even Merlin with his full power could restore it. Merlin had restrained himself from kicking a wall in frustration before continuing on his way to Arthur's room.

He slumped to the door, opened it, and peeked his head in. "Arthur?"

"Merlin."

He stepped inside to find Arthur pacing, a parchment in his hands. "A new letter?

"Latest patrol report."

"No success."

"As ever." Arthur threw the parchment onto his desk and marched away to the window that looked onto the courtyard, leaning against its recess and working the ring on his left forefinger as was his habit when agitated.

"I'm sorry." Merlin hated that phrase. It couldn't convey his feelings. No words could capture the pain of watching Arthur suffer his father's incapacity, Morgana's absence, and Gwen's impairment.

"Your work is on the desk. Take it back to your room."

Merlin plodded over to the desk and considered the stack of parchments. Some of the work would require copying various documents Arthur wished rewritten in a neater hand. Some would be letters easily answered without Arthur's direction. And there would probably be a speech or two stuck in the middle with Arthur's scribbled side notes saying things like, "Make this paragraph better for the ear" or "Need a stronger term here." Merlin always swelled with pride when he worked on those. Arthur trusted him to put words directly in his mouth.

Merlin glanced over at the prince. He had Arthur's trust and confidence...and he didn't deserve it, not entirely. Merlin bowed his head. _I should tell him. Now._ He sucked in a deep breath. "Arthur?"

"Hm?"

"I have...I want..." Merlin met those troubled eyes. "I want to stay here." He couldn't do it. With all that Arthur had faced recently, with all the burdens he bore, how could he foist another on him, the betrayal of a servant he thought fully trustworthy?

"There's no need. Go."

"You don't have to be alone," he argued.

Arthur snorted.

"I mean it."

"I _am_ alone, Merlin." He didn't speak in anger, but factually. "No one else in Camelot has been trained to be king from birth."

"That's true, but―"

"You can't help me. Not this time. Take the work. Gaius can use you more than me right now."

Merlin briefly closed his eyes. "Yes, sire." He collected the stack, pressing it into his chest and folding his arms around it. He made his way to the door.

"I'm going out with the next search patrol tomorrow."

Merlin turned enough to peer at the prince staring out the window.

"You have my leave to come if you wish."

"I'll be there."

The corners of Arthur's mouth turned upwards slightly. Merlin left the room. He leaned momentarily against the closed door, fighting unshed tears.

* * *

The minute Merlin exited, Arthur crossed to the door. He leaned his ear against it until he heard his scribe's footsteps retreating down the hall. He stuck the key he'd had palmed in his right hand into the door and turned it. He backed away, dropping the key onto his table with a clank.

Arthur approached a simple wooden chest on the far side of the room. His father had told him it was his mother's. She insisted on keeping it after their marriage despite its plainness causing it to stick out like a sore thumb amongst the royal finery. Her father had crafted it with his own hands. Such an odd thing Arthur used to think, a noble who delighted in carpentry, but not now. He understood why someone might flee the weight of nobility for the simplicity of common work.

Arthur fished for another key, this one concealed in a crack in the floor behind the chest. When he procured the tiny teethed metal rod, he pressed it into the lock. After a soft click, he set the key on the floor, then lifted the chest's lid. He'd secreted objects that meant something to him in this chest over the years, among them a set of pewter knights on horseback he'd spent hours with as a child, dried flowers folded in a parchment that Morgana had pressed after she picked them on their forest adventures, his first wooden practice sword gifted from his father, a small silver box protecting a golden ring that would grace the finger of the woman he would marry some day, and most recently, a shopping list Gwen thought she misplaced but he'd spirited away as a cherished sample of her handwriting. All items had been carefully settled to one side, making room for several books. He reached inside to remove a red leather tome.

Arthur ran his hand over the worn cover. He had no idea how old it was, but it had to date before the purge at least as did most of the books in the chest. They weren't his, or hadn't been until months ago. They were books Leon had ferreted out when he led the search of Agravaine's manor house. The knight had made him aware of them to obtain permission to destroy them and Arthur had intended to instruct him to burn them, but something had stayed his command that day. Instead he'd vowed to deal with them himself.

At first, he'd only skimmed them, thinking perhaps he might discover a way to heal his father and find Morgana. He should have been repulsed, but after a few paragraphs, curiosity ignited, a thrill perhaps of flirting with knowledge he had been denied.

Arthur cracked open the cover, then flipped several pages to the place he'd marked with a fine purple silk ribbon when he last stopped reading. He picked up where he left off as he made his way to his bed to settle in―

 _Numerous philosophies of magic exist within Camelot's borders. Most of these are inconsequential and are fading away under the dominance of two ways of thinking. These influential philosophies have found their expression in the two prominent groups of magic users in the kingdom: the Druids who roam its forests and the High Priestesses who center their practices on the Isle of the Blessed. Each of these groups pursue their beliefs as the higher expression of magic power and many scholars suspect this conflict must be resolved before the kingdom will ever flourish to its full potential._


	74. Lost

**Author's Note:** Shout out to MamaStreet for the brainstorming help and ideas for Gwaine's section in this chapter.

* * *

The burned out shell of a home long destroyed dripped with morning rain. A woman in a tattered green shirt and dirt stained pants stood before it, stunned. She hadn't been here in seventeen years, never daring to behold what had become of the place she'd loved so well. Her father had been dead a year when she'd listened, expressionless, to a soldier's dispassionate report on the destruction of her family lands and their falling into enemy hands—crops burned, buildings collapsed, the town looted of people and possessions.

Uther had paid Deorham's raiders back in kind and after several more skirmishes, a tentative peace was reached. He'd sought her out to inform her of the agreement and once more promised she would never lack for anything. "You are as my own daughter, Morgana," he'd assured, a gentle hand resting atop her head. Camelot is your home, and we will see to it you are always cared for." Even at eleven, she'd perceived the implication—nothing was left to her, not her father or her house or her lands. She'd respected Uther then, been grateful to him.

Morgana slipped to her knees, bowing her head into her hands, mussed and stringy dark hair falling to the sides of her face. "Father, what should I do?" Only a lonely, whistling wind replied. What had she expected? His spirit to manifest as the guide he'd once been? But, oh, she'd desperately hoped for the truth from another source; then she could avoid what she meant to do.

Her right hand grasped the silver chain around her neck; the object dangling from it hid below, secreted underneath her shirt collar. Morgause would know she had taken it. How would the witch use this knowledge? Did she dare go home to Camelot?

Home? Tears leaked down her cheeks, and she confronted the burnt shell once more. _This_ was home, a broken, charred ash heap, as desolate as her soul.

"Lady Morgana."

The familiar, intruding voice stiffened her back, the clarion call of doom it had once shouted increasing her burden. She stood, whirling around and stepping away with her hand raised. "Get back!"

The woman had changed, and for a moment, took her breath away. A soft, golden outer garment draped a sky blue dress encasing her thin form, such startling simplicity from one so powerful. Multiple tiny braids had been replaced by shiny, dark hair plaited in three long ones down her back. Her visage had filled out somewhat, less gaunt and hollowed, yet her eyes remained strikingly blue. It occurred to Morgana the woman might have been beautiful in the flowering of youth.

"I'm not here to harm you," the woman stated.

Morgana shouted again. "Get away from me!" Nimueh stepped forward. "No!" She'd had enough of witches.

Nimueh held her ground. "You've been with Morgause. I have been searching for her. Where is she? What has she told you?"

"Nothing," Morgana spat out.

Nimueh laughed without mirth. "You think I believe that, child? She uses you. You are her way to Uther. To the throne."

"No one will use me! Not you or her."

"Morgana..."

"No!"

Morgana's eyes flashed golden and Nimueh was thrust backwards, tumbling through the air. Another flash and the same force propelled Morgana across the distance to the forest with dizzying speed. She ducked inside the dense wood, blood rushing, legs pumping in a dead sprint. She wouldn't be taken again as she had five months ago, wouldn't wake up in another strange prison...

* * *

 _"This is kidnapping. You're holding me hostage," Morgana argued, throwing a hand out to indicate the gray stone walls of a windowless room._

 _"We're not. You don't understand," a curly haired young woman replied._

 _"Taking me from my home is a violation."_

 _A smooth, biting voice responded from the doorway. "If Camelot were your home, but as it is not, no crime has occurred."_

 _Morgana glared at Morgause. The woman had spoken to her only once so far and then left her to these lackeys to parrot the same assurances over and over until she was sick of them._

 _"Take me back!" she demanded._

 _"I cannot."_

 _Morgana scoffed. "Will not," she corrected._

 _"Will not," Morgause unexpectedly agreed. "Kara. Leave us."_

 _The young woman bowed her head and departed._

 _"Morgana, please sit."_

 _"I won't."_

 _"Sit."_

 _"How dare you...you...you..."_

 _Morgause crossed the room and pushed her face into Morgana's. "Say and do what you want."_

 _"You violated my father... You... used his corpse."_

 _"Yes, and I'd do it again."_

 _A slap reverberated off the stony walls. Morgause hadn't even flinched, though her eyes watered, and she didn't raise a hand to touch her swelling cheek. Morgana stared at her for several seconds, then stumbled backwards to the one bed in the room and sat with her head turned away_

 _"I did it for you," Morgause insisted._

 _Morgana huffed a derisive breath. "To hurt_ Uther _."_

 _"To remind him of his crimes, yes. But for you, to reveal the truth."_

 _"It was wicked and evil." Morgana fisted the coverlet on the bed, jaw tight with anger._

 _"What makes it so?"_

 _"Everyone knows the worst evil is to use the dead."_

 _"Even if they enlighten the living?"_

 _Morgana closed her eyes against welling tears. "I loved him and you made me see him like that." She had never viewed her father's dead body. It had been wrapped in cloth, the state of it too grotesque they'd said, and advised her to remember him as he was._

 _"Some things are hard to learn, but learn them we must."_

 _"Leave me, witch," she commanded in scorn._

 _Morgause's steps retreated, but paused at the door. "You're one, too. A witch like me."_

 _Morgana lifted her head and met the witch's eyes, her raised chin defiantly. "I'll never be like you."_

 _"You already are," Morgause answered and left her alone once more..._

* * *

Arthur accepted the reins of his horse from Merlin who, consistent with his character, had shunned the stable boy to ready the horse himself. Arthur released a small smile and briefly ruffled Merlin's fringe. The boy beamed. He hadn't spent enough time with his scribe and pet project; duties had weighed too heavily. He assessed the knights gathered for the search party. The prospect of a day and night out in the wilderness should have relaxed him and cleared his mind, but all it did was sharpen the grief, reminding him he'd lost Morgana.

 _To magic_ , he thought as he mounted, the force that corrupted people's hearts until they were black as death. Or so his father had always claimed. Arthur glanced at Merlin settling in his own steed's saddle. _Have you used it? Do you know how to access it?_ And if he had? Arthur looked away because he didn't know how to answer that niggling question.

"Sire?" Arthur looked to Leon on his own horse. The knight's head bobbed to the left. "She's here again."

Arthur followed the direction of his nod and stifled a sigh. How many times did they have to do this? He dismounted, marching towards Gwen. "You're not coming," he spoke directly when he reached her.

"I want to help find her." Gwen's stubborn dark eyes lit afire as they often did these days.

"Stop this, Gwen," Arthur hissed. "You are in no state to ride."

"You keep telling me that. I can ride one handed."

"We don't need you or want you." He knew it was harsh, but he'd tired of this war every time he rode out.

"You only say that to keep me here," Gwen snapped back.

"Don't make me command you again."

"Arthur, please."

The begging tone about broke him, but he squared his shoulders. "Get back to the castle."

"I can care for myself. I won't be a burden."

They were wasting time. He gripped her upper arm and pulled her behind the stables for a little privacy. "Listen to me. You are hurt. We go into danger. If we're attacked, defending you is another distraction."

Gwen's left hand covered the sword's hilt at her waist. "I've been practicing with my other hand. I can defend myself."

"I _order_ you to stay," Arthur growled.

Gwen's brow furrowed. "I thought you'd be more gracious as king."

Arthur's heart froze. "I'm not king."

"You're acting like one. Like your father."

"I have duties you can't possibly understand, and one of them is the protection of those in my house."

"Arthur..."

"There's no way in hell I'm letting you get taken, too," his vehement whisper declared. "It'd destroy the last of me, Guinevere." He heard the raw emotion in his voice, the pain he kept at bay most days. "Go back."

He strode away. She'd obey. She had no choice really. He swung up onto his horse and avoided acknowledging Merlin's pitying gaze. He didn't need a reminder that his life had become a shambles he could barely hold together.

* * *

Manure. Of course, he'd get stuck with manure. Why did Percival get poking holes in the ground for seeds? The seed bag crossing his shoulders couldn't be _that_ heavy. Gwaine hefted another reeking clump out of the wagon, adding it to the growing pile. He was used to the scent of horses and cows, but for some reason today it just stank and he found himself hating it. Maybe it was the cool air and the clear sky and the slight breeze. This was a time to gallivant, not buckle down to work.

Gwaine sighed, pausing with his shovel stood upright, fingers curled into its handle. Agravaine had been a decent lord by all accounts until three years ago when support from the man had more or less dried up. Livestock dwindled, crops were left untended, and the people on his lands began to scrimp. Arthur had given them enough funds to replenish, and Gwaine had to admit as he scanned the fields the peasants were putting their backs into it.

So, maybe he was being a teeny bit arrogant. He'd spent his formative years in cities, bargaining, trading, and admittedly sometimes stealing what he needed to survive. Any work he'd taken on had been assisting shop owners and although it was labor intensive, it couldn't compare to farming. Sun up to sun down, little rest, lots of sweat. And then what if they had nothing to show for it at harvesting season? All this work could be for naught.

Gwaine wiped at his slick forehead with the back of a hand. He'd often gone to bed hungry as a young child until his mother found steady work. When he'd grown old enough, he'd followed her one night to discover what she did and caught her entering a brothel. He'd been shocked, scandalized, and gone back home. When she showed up the next morning, setting the day's food on their table, he hadn't said a word, but the meal burned a hole in his stomach because now he understood the side glances and harsh whispered words she endured.

Gwaine lifted the shovel once more. At least these people could do a good day's work without resorting to desperate means. Revitalized, he slung another shovelful of manure onto the pile.

"Gwaine!"

Gwaine flung his hair out his eyes with a head toss to meet Percival's gaze. "Yeah?" he called out.

"Girl. Needs to take the cows to new pasture."

"So?"

"You like cows. Do it." Percival's eyes twinkled and Gwaine groaned. They were never going to forget his mistaking a cow for a horse in Camelot. He dug the shovel into the manure pile and followed the pointing finger of the larger man. A girl not more than seventeen smiled shyly at him from under a dingy white kerchief. She was too slender and pale as milk. Gwaine quirked a grin at the irony of this description in his head, which made the girl grin back. She had a pretty smile anyway.

As they ambled away, Gwaine watched her nudge the five cows in her charge with a long stick. They seemed docile enough. "These all yours?"

"No," she answered quietly. "Just one. Rest are neighbors."

Divide and conquer, Gwaine noted. Made sense in a community like this. "Any thieves?"

"Not many," she said, tucking a loose auburn hair that had escaped behind her ear.

Well, she was a conversationalist. They reached the outskirts of town and a pasture lined by trees. Didn't seem much for the cows to chew but they plodded inside anyway and munched at the pickings. "Eh, if you don't need me..."

She blinked slowly. "No, you can go." Her expression turned downcast and Gwaine felt a stab of pity.

"I guess I have a moment or two." He sat down next to a rock she used as a stool, hands braced behind him, legs straight out in front. "Your cow doing well?"

"Oh, yes. Most productive in the village."

"Great. Yeah. Good." What did you even say to a simple, chaste farming girl? Hey, I can drink three tankards to a man's one?

"Well, eh..."

"Where are you from?" the girl interrupted. "Why did Prince Arthur put you in charge?"

Gwaine rubbed at the back of his head. "Erm, we're his friends and..."

"They say you're spies. That Prince Arthur's looking for conspirators."

Ah. They were a distrustful little bunch. But, then, Arthur had hauled most of Agravaine's watchmen off for trials and possible execution. "We know who helped Agravaine commit treason. We aren't spying, just helping."

The girl bowed her head. "I'm sorry. I thought... I was wrong."

Gwaine smiled. "It's okay."

"Sefa!" The girl jerked around and stood fearfully. A grizzled old man barreled into the yard and gripped her tightly round the arm. "I told you to stay away from them."

"But, father..."

"Get back home."

"He's just keeping me company."

"Now, girl!" He swatted at her backside and she gave a little yelp and hurried away.

Gwaine rose, eyes narrowed.

"Don't come near my daughter."

"We're only here to help," Gwaine muttered, meeting the man eye to eye.

The man snorted and backed away.

"Your cows," Gwaine gestured to the field. But the man ignored him, striding back down the lane as if a wolf snapped at his heels.

* * *

The search party retraced a previous route they'd taken to the west. A group of wandering Druids had been sighted recently, and without any idea who might be sheltering Morgause, it was as good a lead as any. Merlin spent the ride sending his sight out. No camp had yet appeared in the trees. He longed to find Morgana but dreaded encountering Druids.

Merlin set his eyes on Arthur's back swaying with his horse's gait. His prince's silence and isolation worried him. One loss had turned Uther against magic, and Arthur had suffered two—Morgana and effectively his father. Kilgharrah had informed him after his visions in the Crystal Cave that Arthur executing innocent sorcerers with abandon could become a reality. The responsibility to avoid that path fell on him, right?

Merlin held his breath. He had to make Arthur see magic had been used for good in his service and the most obvious way was through confession. Or was it? He couldn't be sure what Arthur would do the moment his deceit came to light. Would the prince admit magic's good based on their relationship, or would the revelation push him down a path like his father? Merlin sighed. _Visions. What ill things_ , he repeated Kilgharrah's words of long ago.

Finding Morgana. That's what mattered now. He needed to focus. He sucked in a deep breath and stared intently into the trees. The grimoire had contained some lessons in mindspeak. He called out, his words echoing back to him as if he yelled into a deep, dark well. _Morgana. It's Merlin. We're looking for you. Can you hear me?_ No reply, but she might not be near. He'd just keep repeating the message, hoping to hear her in return.

A rustle in the trees drew Arthur's attention and he raised his hand to halt the search party. Merlin's sight zoomed into the brush and his stiffened posture relaxed as he smiled. A man trotted through the trees and drew up next to Arthur. Arthur smiled genuinely and held out his hand, sharing a tight greeting with Lancelot who was joining them as he often did.

* * *

Arthur conversed in low tones with Lancelot at the edge of their overnight camp at the end of a fruitless day of searching. Only his former knight's hurt could chance to rival his own, though he believed his brotherly love as strong as a lover's. If he never saw Morgana again... Such an outcome was too difficult to consider and weighed too much to entertain.

"Arthur, I need to tell you something." Lancelot leaned his shoulder closer to Arthur's, pressing into the tree they shared as support.

"Something you don't _want_ to tell me,'' Arthur read the reluctance.

"I fear what you might do with the information."

"Does it concern my people?"

Lancelot hesitated. "It concerns _you_."

"Then my people as well. What is it?"

Lancelot studied the ground. "I have...Druid friends."

Arthur clenched his jaw. Just the subject he didn't wish to discuss.

"They're good people. Innocent people."

"Is this is another lecture on magic?"

Lancelot's head jerked up. "The Druids, some of them are tired of being treated unfairly and want to make way for their freedom."

Arthur's throat seized. "Assassination," he whispered.

"My friend says those who think like this are in hand, but he's worried."

"Or maybe he tells you to misled me."

"He's trustworthy."

Arthur pushed off the tree and walked towards the fire.

"Arthur..."

He held up a fist in Lancelot's direction, an indication the conversation was over and not to utter another word. Merlin, huddled in a blanket, occupied a place in front of the fire, gaze unfocused, deep in thought. Arthur would normally join him, swap stories of daily life in Camelot, but the boy was a painful reminder right now. Instead he took to his pallet, set up far from the fire. He peered into the dark void surrounding them. Somewhere out there, Druids camped as they and might desire his death, and the thought that disturbed him at Lancelot's words demanded consideration—Could he blame them?

The treatise he'd most recently read from his hidden library described the Druids as a people steeped in the magic of the natural realm, champions of peace, balance, and self-control. He'd read with great shock that Camelot itself had been built with the aid of a sorcerer named Sigan, a confidante of the king until his power corrupted his heart. He'd lashed out and torn down much that he'd built and the king of Camelot was forced to destroy him. Arthur had smirked at the book. So, magic led Sigan to darkness. But then followed two pages extolling the Druids rebuilding the city and tending the wounded. He'd closed the book in confusion. Was magic a product of light or dark? How reliable was the book anyway? It could be a clever lie to deceive others into legitimizing magic practice.

 _"By order of the king of Camelot, you are condemned for the use of sorcery!"_ he'd declared on his first, and only, Druid raid. They'd knelt in front of him, frightened men, women clutching babes, boys barely old enough to hold a sword, girls younger than Morgana had been when she came to live in Camelot. His sword-hand ached, the tight grip on his blade painfully anticipating action...and he hadn't been able to swing. _"You're under arrest."_ His father's men had looked aghast. The orders were destruction, no prisoners. Then a child had been snatched from a mother and all hell had broken loose.

Arthur started at his suddenly wet cheek. He wiped at his eyes.

"Arthur?"

He shot up, choking down his breath and clearing his throat. "What do you need?"

"Are you all right?" Merlin sat down cross-legged next to him. Merlin had been there with the Druids. Gods, he could have been one of them, like the child's corpse he'd passed and tried to ignore, the one with a sword through his neck, pinned to the ground.

"Fine," Arthur replied shortly.

"I miss her, too. It's okay."

A thin smile lengthened his mouth. Merlin assumed he cried for Morgana. He'd concealed those tears in his chambers.

"Men might not be worth tears, but maybe women are."

Arthur laughed and his heart lightened. "Indeed, but what does a boy like you know about women?"

Merlin shrugged and dipped his head guiltily

The truth smacked Arthur over the head. "You're hiding a girl from me."

Merlin shook his head, but his eyes didn't leave his knees. Arthur lightly latched an encouraging hand onto the back of the boy's neck. "You are. Who is she?"

"No one," Merlin muttered.

"She doesn't care for you? Hang in there, Merlin. You're young. Now it's all fire in your stomach and head. Gets better later."

Merlin chuckled. "You sound like Gaius."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "You've talked to him about girls?"

" _He_ talked to me, and I don't need it from you."

"I have no intention of speaking _any_ farther." Arthur released Merlin's neck. "Get some sleep." The boy stood and wandered away to his own bedroll.

Merlin harbored a girl in his heart. He had a mother who loved him. His hand worked Arthur's words to better meaning. He had a life and future, unlike the corpses they'd left behind to rot in a former Druid camp.

Arthur turned over and closed his eyes. They needed to find Morgana, but he prayed to his deepest soul they didn't find her in a Druid camp.


	75. Salvation

Golden flapping wings pounded a beat in the air as sharp yellow eyes sighted the destination below. The dragon circled it once, twice, then dove in for a smooth landing on a sandy shore. The soft thud behind him indicated his bastet had touched down as well and he swung his neck round to glance at her. She chirruped questioningly. He waddled towards the water, dipped a toe in, and breathed out a warm shimmer.

Waves rippled outwards, producing gentle swells that stirred up innumerable tiny dots of ethereal light. These seemed to ride the swells, then hovered above them. They zipped to the dragon, spiraling around his neck and head. One alighted on his snout.

"What are they?" a feminine voice inquired. His bastet had taken on her human form.

"The Sidhe." He lowered his head for her to behold the lithe little being dancing along his broad nose. It bore a pipe in its hands and tootled away as it traipsed right, then left, though the tune of its song was too soft for their ears. Its luminescent robe undulated as if underwater, at first trailing behind then billowing frontwards. Its face was long, its chin pointed, and its ears severely tipped. A hat with a tail whipped every which way and the effect was comical, though the dragon knew better than to laugh.

Smoke curled from Kilgharrah's nose and the Sidhe floated upwards at its appearance, then fluttered back over the water followed by its fellows. They rose high in the air and dove back into the waters, their entrance appearing as droplets of rain pinging the placid surface.

Freya leaned into Kilgharrah's left front leg. "Beautiful."

"It is the Sidhe that make this place sacred," Kilgharrah explained. "Step into the water."

Freya obeyed, gasping softly at the chill sliding over her toes. "There's...something here."

"Life...and death."

Freya looked over her shoulder. "Death?"

"A magic so potent, it provides either according to one's desire."

"Who would desire death?"

A rumble quivered through Kilgharrah's chest and he whispered on the wind. "Who, indeed."

Freya gazed into the waters. "What do I need to learn here?" He had taught her much and she had been a faithful student.

"You care for the young warlock."

Freya didn't turn round, but he felt her smile nonetheless. "I care for Merlin."

"Even love."

She hesitated a moment. "We've never spoken of love."

"Your part to play in his story is far from over."

Freya turned, stepping out of the water and back to her master, locking her dark eyes onto his bright yellow. "Why do I fear the way you speak?"

The dragon's breath fell on her as he responded. "Time moves ever forward and some destinies cannot be avoided. You must remember this place."

"Why?"

"Some call it the birthplace of magic, though magic began in no particular place. Magic _is_ because life _is_. The Sidhe, simpleminded though they may be, are life itself manifest in a physical form. The waters of Avalon have been imbued with the spirit of its inhabitants." Kilgharrah lifted a paw, turning Freya to face the lake once more. "When the time comes, my child, when you feel you have lost what is most dear, flee here and do not look back."

* * *

Merlin awoke to morning dew gracing his cheeks. He drew in a deep breath as he dragged a sleeve over his face, the scent of pine tingling his nose. Morning fog had descended. He slowly sat up, stretching and yawning, then stumbled up and into the woods, nodding at the knight on duty. He identified a secluded area of bush and undid the ties at his trousers, seeking relief from the pressure in his bladder. He'd just finished and retied his trousers when he caught hushed voices not too far from his location.

He crept forward, blood rushing to his ears, wondering who skulked about outside their camp. He readied his magic for any encounter, but the voices abruptly stopped. Horse's hooves pounded away, and he sprinted ahead to sight the retreating back of a hooded figure. He flung out his hand and would have yelped in surprise when another hand clamped around his wrist if his mouth hadn't been covered at the same time.

"It's me," a voice hissed. His mouth was released.

"Lancelot!" Merlin exclaimed, turning to the man behind him who smiled within his trim beard.

"What are doing out here?" Lancelot asked, voice low.

"Peeing, and it's a better excuse than yours. Who was that?"

Lancelot looked after the hooded figure. "A Druid. Leader of the nearby camp. I called him here."

"You...called him?"

Lancelot nodded. "I have a way to tell them I'm near. I visited them yesterday. They don't have Morgana. None of the Druids do."

Merlin sighed. "I know. I asked Kilgharrah to look for Morgana or Morgause. He can't sense them anywhere."

"What does that mean, Merlin?"

The boy met Lancelot's worried gaze. "I don't think she's dead. She's just...hidden well with magic."

Lancelot dropped his eyes. "I told Arminel where to move his camp so they'd be safe. We won't happen upon them."

Merlin nodded at the good news.

"We waste time if Morgana can't be found even with magic as great as a dragon's." Lancelot rubbed at his eyes. "I don't know what to do anymore."

Merlin let his eyes fall to the ground. "Me, either."

"Merlin?"

"Hm?"

"Watch Arthur. There are those even among the Druids now who would seek his life."

Merlin looked up anxiously. "Druids? They're peaceful."

"Not all of them. Some are tired of waiting for better days and their numbers are increasing."

"We need to get back." He began to move back towards camp, but Lancelot grasped his arm.

"He has to know magic can do good. He must make right what his father made wrong."

Merlin bit his lip. "He will."

"When?"

The same question hounded Merlin day and night, its answer just as tormenting. "I don't know."

* * *

Gwen had risen early. She never slept past dawn these days, whether out of habit or agitation, she didn't know. Every morning began with a rude reminder that she wasn't whole when she dragged her useless arm out of bed. She didn't regret attempting to stop Morgause taking her mistress, but oh, how she hated the stares and pity she endured.

Still, time restored much of her capability, even if others kept thinking of her as a sorry invalid. Her left arm grew in strength. The limb had never been dominant, but she trained it to compensate for her right; she could even hold a sword and move through the fighting stances. One-handed, she washed, dressed, and stared on her father still asleep. She felt most disturbed at the hurt that remained in his eyes after all these months and the awkward ways he tried to make everything normal. Yet, she understood and loved him for his devotion.

Gwen slipped out into the lane and headed to the citadel, left hand clutched around the handle of a basket carrying any possession she might need. She'd fallen into a routine, the first to show up each day to take care of their disabled king, though his ailment was in mind rather than body. Without a mistress, she had found a way to be useful aiding Urien, the king's manservant, who had been entirely grateful for the help now that his charge needed more care than ever.

Arthur, though, saw through her service. Yesterday morning, when he had gathered her into his arms, he'd honed in on the truth as skillfully as he aimed a crossbow bolt at a target. She did it for him. She felt sorry for the king, but it was Arthur who motivated her actions. Seeing him so torn over his father's state and not being willing to comfort him with touch, she'd dedicated herself to relieving his burden by caring well for the man he loved.

 _Arthur_. The prince's name and expressions and sensations tumbled around in her mind far more often than she liked. He'd about conquered her resolve when he'd held her and swore he'd want her dead arm or no. With his father incapacitated enough to be unaware, this would have been the perfect time to pursue forbidden love, but she had sworn the man off. The woman he'd marry must be skilled in diplomacy, able to offer the kingdom security and wisdom, and willing to stand by his side when the law fell heavily. She could do none of these, and anyway, he had been born royalty, she a servant. Their proper places must be maintained.

She reached the courtyard and furrowed her brow. Several guards crowded a figure on the ground, disheveled and dirt stained, though they hadn't drawn swords. They seemed uncertain what to do.

"Send for Gaius," one commanded and another hurried away.

Gwen approached to peer through the gaggle, gasped, then elbowed her way through and went to her knees. "Morgana," she uttered breathlessly.

The green eyes surrounded by dirt smudges locked on her. "Gwen!" The worn woman flung herself into her maidservant's lap, sobbing.

* * *

At Gwen's appearance, Morgana's carefully constructed walls dropped, and she clung to the girl as if she were the last hope for salvation. She hardly heard Gwen command the guards to aid her up and wouldn't rise until Gwen assured she wouldn't let go. The girl's warm hand remained securely wrapped in hers as they traced their way to her chambers.

The room seemed untouched since she'd last left and Gwen confirmed her impression. "I've kept it exactly as you like it." Tears glistened in her eyes.

Her maid aided her to a chair and eased her into it. When she made to withdraw, Morgana found she couldn't relax her grip.

"My lady." The unshed tears overflowed, tracking down Gwen's cheeks. "I will not leave you. You are safe." Morgana loosened her hold for the girl to pull away. The maidservant moved to the door, peeking out and calling down the hall for a servant.

Morgana ran her eyes over the room as Gwen instructed regarding a bath. She had called this home, but no, no. The dreams, the haunting words, and down below in the dungeons, unspeakable horrors. She had let the king love her as his own. His love, it wasn't a lie, couldn't be a lie, could it? Morgause had her own designs, surely. Her hand rested on the chain at her neck.

"I've ordered your tub filled," Gwen reported when she returned. "Here." She nudged her tenderly at the shoulder and directed her behind the dressing screen, then began to unlace the ties of the shirt with her left hand. "I'm sorry I'm too slow." The girl's hooded eyelids shielded a spark of pain.

"Gwen? What is it?" Morgana then noticed the girl used only one hand; her right arm hung limply at her side. "You're hurt?" She grasped the girl's right wrist and lifted dead weight.

"It's nothing."

"What happened?"

"I tried to stop her taking you. I touched that...wind."

Morgana pushed back Gwen's long sleeve and gasped at the gray, lifeless limb underneath. "Gwen," she breathed and pulled the woman into her. _How could you do this?_ Morgana shouted at the absent Morgause, but her next thought defended the witch who certainly hadn't known the girl would try to save her mistress.

"I'm fine, my lady. I am." Gwen pushed away from her, though the wetness in her eyes belied her words. Gwen changed subjects, noticing the object dangling from the chain around her neck. "What is that?"

Morgana clasped the small golden charm the approximate size and shape of a hazelnut. "I...took it...I thought I might need to trade to make my way here." Gwen reached for the chain. "No. I want to keep wearing it."

Confusion colored Gwen's features for a moment, then she just nodded as if she understood the need to indulge the whims of a mistress newly returned. She used her good hand to tug the shirt towards Morgana's head.

"I can do it myself."

Gwen firmed her lips. "I want to do it for you. And I can."

Morgana smiled sadly. "All right."

A horrified intake of breath came from the girl when the shirt was removed. "My lady."

Morgana had forgotten. There would be wounds, results of practice sessions, little nicks and cuts. "Just brambles. Nothing to worry over."

Gwen helped her out of the rest of the clothes, her brow creased in worry. Morgana heard servants arrive and fill her tub and then a voice that about broke her heart at its familiar kindness. Gwen left the screen.

"Can she bathe first?"

Dear old Gaius responded with concern. "I would like to see her now. She may be wounded."

"She does have―"

"Gaius!" Morgana called out. She snapped up a blanket on a chair behind the screen, swathing it around her thin frame. When she stepped out, the old man raised his eyebrows and duly turned away.

"Please," Morgana said as she crossed the room and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not entirely decent, but don't look away."

Gaius turned back, a rare moisture glazing in his eyes. "I am so grateful you have returned. How do you feel?"

"Tired, but I'm not harmed, I swear to you."

Gwen lowered her gaze to her feet and Morgana silently praised her discretion.

"They did nothing to you?" Gaius inquired.

"They took quite good care of me," Morgana scoffed.

Gaius raised his right eyebrow, the skeptical one. She perceived his desire to ask why, but Gwen interrupted. "We thought Morgause...maybe she killed you."

Morgana shuffled towards her tub. "She only wanted to persuade me to turn on the king, be her eyes and ears in the court, but I refused and escaped." She looked back at Gwen and Gaius. "That's all."

Gwen slowly approached, holding out her hand. Morgana grasped it. "Really? She didn't hurt you?"

"Torture?" Morgana laughed, but the chuckling rang false in her ears. "No. Now please. I want a bath, and Gaius, I will come later so you may assess my health."

"Yes, my lady. Welcome home." He withdrew.

Gwen unwrapped the blanket from her shoulders and helped her climb into the bath. She sank into the warm water, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back along the rim. She'd been truthful. Morgause wanted her to turn on Uther, but oh, the way she had done it. Was it torture? Not physical, but perhaps it could be considered so all the same...

* * *

 _Morgana followed Morgause down a darkened hall that reminded her of the catacombs underneath the citadel. She suspected her current residence was an underground complex. She hadn't seen any windows, just stone walls, their gray monotony broken now and then by banners embroidered with strange symbols. The vastness of the place engulfed the number of people she'd seen so far, only a dozen at most besides Morgause and herself._

 _When Morgause had shown up in her bedroom, declaring only the truth would make her see the fortune in her coming here, she'd been trying to count off the days she'd been gone from Camelot. Five? Or seven? Something like that. She_ hated _being confined and confused like this!_

 _Morgause slowed when she reached another wooden door. Morgana had thought of attacking the woman and fleeing, but where would she go? She had no reference to navigate this place._

 _Morgause turned. "Morgana. I truly have brought you here for your good."_

 _Morgana rolled her eyes. She'd heard that a million times since she'd come here. A hand clamped down on her arm._

 _"Uther has betrayed you."_

 _"How?" Morgana challenged, shoving the hand off. "By taking me in? Giving me a home?"_

 _"His persecution of magic means nothing to you?"_

 _"I've already told you I don't agree with him and never will."_

 _"You'll let people like you die?"_

 _Morgana's heart almost stopped. "Like...me?"_

 _"You have magic."_

 _"I don't know what_ _―_ _"_

 _Morgause seized her wrist with the bracelet. "This is to restrict seeing, and it was your mother's."_

 _"My mother's?" Morgana glanced down at it._

 _"Who gave it to you?"_

 _Morgana stared dumbly._

 _"Who?"_

 _"A woman. Nimueh?"_

 _Morgause sniffed. "So she had it all these years."_

 _"You know her."_

 _"Knew her."_

 _"She's dead?"_

 _"She's of no consequence anymore." Morgause clasped Morgana's hands between her own and fixed her with a smoldering gaze. "You have been dreadfully deceived, and I have much to tell you, but we must start with the worst of all. You must be strong."_

 _Ice pierced Morgana's chest at words so similar to her father's last._

 _"I must show you and you must know," Morgause concluded, letting go her hands and turning to unlatch the door. She stepped inside, then beckoned with a finger._

 _Morgana entered gradually, afraid of the darkness beyond. A single candle illuminated the room, though it was too large for the light to fill it completely. A heaviness pervaded the atmosphere, a weighty sacredness emanating from a stone slab on the far side. Something covered in dark cloth rested along its top, illumined by the candle in its holder tacked to the wall above it. Runes decorated the walls, scratches of writing rather than formal carvings. She identified a few symbols. "Why have you brought me here?"_

 _Morgause grabbed her hand once more and she tried to pull away. "Stop. You will need strength." A tingling seeped into her veins, magic bolstering her. Morgause pulled her across to the slab. "Your father and Uther were friends, inseparable in their younger days."_

 _Morgana nodded mutely, eyes prickling in fear._

 _"Gorlois was a good man. Gentle, kind..." Morgause's voice almost broke and Morgana was startled._

 _"You knew my father?"_

 _"I did. He was never too busy to pay attention to a young child in court."_

 _"You," Morgana whispered._

 _"Yes. And so what Uther did to him was even more an insult."_

 _"What_ Uther _did?"_

 _Morgause's fierce eyes fixed on her, glinting in the dim candlelight. "You were told he died in battle. That was a lie." Morgana tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "Uther proclaimed so to cover his own heinous actions." Morgause moved behind her, letting go her hand to hold her shoulders. "You must see what he did." Her grip tightened so hard on her shoulders Morgana would have squirmed if the cloth on the slab hadn't lifted of its own accord to reveal a naked body bearing the pallor of death._

 _"No," she cried out and turned her head, pushing back, but Morgause held her fast and must have used her magic because she froze in place._

 _"Look on him, Morgana. Look at his wounds."_

 _Morgana screwed her eyes shut._

 _"Look! Desecrate his memory no longer! Honor him with the truth!"_

 _Morgana didn't breathe for several seconds, desperate for a way out of this horror, but a morbid desire to know won out and she cracked an eye. Her father's gaunt and stiff corpse lay unmoving, and yes, there were wounds, several along his entire frame, cuts...and burns? She snapped her eyes shut again._

 _"Did you see? How did he receive all these?"_

 _"B-battle," Morgana stammered._

 _"No. So many. Everywhere. And none the single cause of death. Search. You will not find it."_

 _Was it a lie? How had he died? Morgana opened her eyes, mouth pinched in a grim line. Morgause deceived her with her own father. She must. She ran her eyes up and down the body. Many evidences of wounds deep and shallow, but none the fatal blow that she could see._

 _"Uther, out of his guilt, led everyone to believe Gorlois died in honor, but in truth, he died chained in Camelot's dungeon, tortured until his body could bear it no longer."_

 _Morgana's chest heaved, her stomach roiled, and she gagged. Her body unfroze and she tore back across the chamber to the door, yanking on its handle, but it didn't budge. Footsteps neared. Morgana turned. "Let me out!"_

 _"You know it's true. You've seen it with your own eyes. Uther did this to him. This is what he does to those accused of magic."_

 _"No!" Morgana screeched. "My father didn't have magic!"_

 _"Aredian the witchfinder accused your father and Uther believed the charge, turned on his dearest friend, letting the man ply his ways to gain Gorlois' confession." Morgause stepped closer to her and Morgana pressed her back into the door. "This is why you belong here. You are like us and Uther would turn on you just as he did your father. We are your salvation."_

* * *

Morgause smirked in satisfaction when the last of a crumbling pile of stone blasted apart at her power, exposing an old archway. She ducked her head as she entered and passed empty rooms strewn with cobwebs. This ruin had lain untended for over three hundred years. The sorceress who had occupied it during its heyday was a legend in certain circles, one of the idols of the high priestesses, not for her errors as they used to say, but for her accumulation of knowledge. Foreigners traveled from far and wide to appeal to her great understanding.

Morgause paused in front of a dilapidated dais. When she'd been young, she'd questioned the story; if the sorceress had been so very smart, why had she fallen? Morgause cast a haughty eye over the tarnished bronze throne. Because she had no self-control, came the answer. She did, however, have the foresight to leave a means of retribution, though her hands would not wield its might.

Morgause turned to the left, following a side hall, skirting debris. The sorceress' love of power outweighed her desire for knowledge. She abandoned her pursuit to indulge in the destruction of kingdoms. Morgause would not repeat her mistakes. She did not seek power, only justice and recompense and the restoration of a sisterhood rising the more glorious out of its ashes. Thus, she would appropriate the sorceress' final tool as her own.

The last chamber at the end of the hall was spacious, containing seven rectangular stone boxes long and wide enough to secret the body of a man clad in armor. Seven knights had pledged themselves to the sorceress when she promised them spoils of war. _Men_ , Morgause scorned. So easy to manipulate, like the kings she held under her own sway. They, however, could never be as obedient as these.

A marble column waist high rose from the middle of the room, a recessed dip in its center. Morgause approached and gazed into the hollow bowl. It had once secured the mixture that bound the seven to the sorceress' will. When she died, they had been compelled to return here and lay in wait until another might bind them once more. Who had covered their stone coffins or cast this castle into ruins? No tale answered the question, but the seven knights existed as Morgause had always known. One of her mentors had chanced upon the ruins herself in her youth and related the location. Ah, how fortuitous that discovery. Her mentor had long perished, but her contribution to justice would last forever.

Morgause unslung the water pouch crossing her chest and clutched it gingerly. She'd procured it herself, precious water from the lake of Avalon. _Only once may you remove our water_ , the Sidhe had echoed in her mind. _Use it well._ She intended to. She breathed deeply, uncorked the pouch, held it above the column, and turned it over. Crystal clear water cascaded into the basin and splashed against its sides. Once the water stopped flowing, Morgause whispered. "You do your part, sister, and I will do mine." She smiled, digging into a bag strapped to the belt at her waist.

She withdrew a small silver vial and contemplated it as she grasped it between a forefinger and thumb. Such a little thing, but so very valuable, containing the blood of a seer, the necessary component she hadn't possessed until now. The sorceress that controlled the knights had been a formidable seer. Such an irony she did not prevent her fall, but then, the future wasn't finite. Her blood had tied the knights to her, the might in seeing an effective hold on their wills, and now a seer would bring them to life again.

Morgause unclasped the vial's decorative lid. She upturned it and grinned as the water tinted red at its release. She closed it, secreting the container into her bag, then raised her hands and stared at the ceiling. The words of the Old Religion flowed off her tongue, the greatest use of her magic she'd ever undertaken.

" _Cnihtas Medhires, éower sáwla sind min sáwla. Onwác and cóm hér eft. Rid eft ond forsliehð eft._ "

Lightning zinged from her fingertips into the basin, then shot outward in seven jagged lines to each sarcophagus. Seven stone lids cracked at once and men who hadn't drawn breath in three hundred years entered the land of the living once more.

* * *

Merlin went rigid when electric energy jolted through him. He made a desperate grab at Lebryt's saddle as he tumbled over but his hands wouldn't cooperate. He thumped against the ground and the side of his head exploded with pain.

"Sire!" Merlin heard Leon call.

The forward progress of the search party stalled and he was turned onto his back. "Merlin. What the―" A wet cloth pressed onto the right side of his temple and a hand patted his cheek. "Merlin, look at me."

Merlin blinked through a haze at Arthur's anxious face.

"You just go and faint like this? Are you sick?"

It wasn't sickness or lightness in the brain. Magic had ripped through him with such force it still shivered along his spine and limbs.

Merlin pushed himself up onto an elbow. "I'm fine...I just...got dizzy."

Arthur shook his head. "You ride with me."

"I can ride."

"No arguments." Arthur made sure Merlin took over pressing the cloth to his forehead, then hauled him to his feet. "Leon, take care of Lebryt."

"Yes, sire."

"You hit a rock. How's your head?" Arthur asked as he aided Merlin over to his own horse.

"Not bad."

"Well, the wound's superficial anyway." Arthur mounted and another knight helped Merlin up behind him.

"Arthur, I feel silly," Merlin protested.

"I'm not chancing you falling again. You'll slow us down." There was care concealed in the complaint. "You'll tell Gaius when we get back. You were stiff as a post! You must be getting something."

As they moved forward, Merlin lowered the cloth. Not much blood really. He fingered the wound. A bump. Great. He looked into the woods, ignoring the slight headache to send his sight out. Nothing in any direction. Then what had he felt? For a time he was on edge, but no attack occurred and he set aside worry over the strange magic.

Instead, he was thrown back in time, reminded of the only other time he'd shared Arthur's horse, when first they'd met. He'd rode towards Camelot, staring at the Dragon Man's back, thrilled and terrified and...compelled. Something in Arthur had latched onto something in him. He guessed it was destiny, the magic bond, but it was more now. Far more.

He never expected to grow so close to the prince of Camelot. He'd discovered in Arthur brotherhood and camaraderie and fellowship, all those things Arthur said knights meant to each other. But what they had went even deeper, brothers of heart and soul even if Arthur didn't exactly know who he was. And if Arthur did? Merlin's fingers played at his neck. He hadn't forgotten Arthur's ruthless choking. It was just playacting for Agravaine's sake, and yet, he couldn't scrub the memory. If he told Arthur the truth, whether it led to strangulation or not, he might lose everything that mattered to him in a heartbeat.

Hoof beats drummed the ground ahead, and Merlin leaned around Arthur to see a Camelot knight fast approaching. Arthur pulled up Brenner.

"My lord!" the knight called out, yanking back on the reins to stop parallel to Arthur.

"Trouble?" Arthur asked tensely.

"No, my lord. The Lady Morgana. She's returned!"

* * *

Elyan wearily rubbed at his forehead, watching the latest two peasants exit the receiving room. He slumped into his seat. He'd healed in body and mind over the last few months. Gwaine and Percival had given him space to recover and listened when needed. The beatings he'd taken just because he'd failed Agravaine, a man he didn't even really know when he'd been manipulated into going to Camelot, had been brutal. He viewed them as partial consequences of his own stupidity. Gwaine had apologized profusely for not going to Arthur first when they discovered Agravaine was their enemy, but Elyan forgave him immediately. He had been just as sure his way was best when they caused unrest in Camelot.

Elyan sighed. He missed Gwen and his father. If he hadn't been such a fool, he could have stayed in the capital...and he wouldn't have gotten a good man whipped. Elyan pondered the parchments in his hand. Well, he was making it up to Arthur now.

The door to the hall opened again, this time admitting his two friends, tanned and sweat soaked.

"Can't you two ever bathe before looking me up?" Elyan asked with a smile.

"Want to join us in the fields instead of lazing around here?" Gwaine shot back, also grinning.

"If only it was just lazing," Elyan sighed, rising from his seat.

"What is it?" Percival inquired.

Elyan moved to a side table, setting down the parchments amongst a plethora of others. "More disputes. They keep coming and asking for arbitration." He chuckled softly. "Or I have to drag them in here to work things out."

"You need us to take over for a while?" Gwaine asked.

Elyan turned. "Oh no. I'm not falling for that one." Gwaine's eyes twinkled as he pouted. "What we need is something more formal. An establishment of a court."

"Ugh. Rules and regulations and judging between this man's claim over that sliver of land and that one's stolen bread basket?" Gwaine groaned.

Percival smacked Gwaine in the arm while looking at Elyan. "They need structure and order."

"And what would you know about that?" Gwaine asked.

"I grew up on manor lands."

Elyan nodded slowly. "And were mistreated."

Percival grimaced. "Not all lords or nobles are like the ones that went after us," he spoke softly. Elyan and Gwaine exchanged meaningful glances, mindful of the lessons they'd learned in Camelot. "Now we're the lords...kind of."

Gwaine chuckled, Elyan joined in, and Percival patted them both on the back. Elyan shook his head. "Never thought I'd end up making decisions that run people's lives."

"You're better than I ever would be," Gwaine encouraged. "Make your court. Its judge will be fair."

Elyan smiled gratefully but suffered a stab of trepidation. After all this time railing at lords and kings, he hoped he'd be wise enough to get it right.


	76. A Tangled Web

Uther's world swirled in shades of light and dark. At times he glimpsed his room or citadel halls at a far distance, mechanically navigating them out of pure habit, prodded by gentle voices and hands. He clung to these moments because they always ended, replaced by figures dark and wretched. His closest friend and wife cried and accused without fail, repeating the litany of his crimes. He couldn't escape the cycle of retribution. He didn't even have the strength to cover his ears...

* * *

Pressure strangled Morgana's lungs and crushed against her fluttering heart. Uther slept, Urien had told her when she met him in the hall. Gwen had informed her of the king's impaired state after her bath. She'd feigned shock, but Morgause had already gloated she needn't fear Uther anymore. He was at the mercy of those who held his fate in their hands.

She pulled at the silver chain circling her neck, withdrawing the tiny golden orb secreted under the silken fabric of her lavender gown. She curled her fingers around the charm, eyes locked on the king asleep in his bed. He was leaner than last she saw him, skin sallow and more wrinkled, hair thinned and whitened, like he tottered on death's threshold. She didn't know what to feel. Love? Hate? Or indulgent pity? The round charm bit into her flesh as she clenched a fist. Use it, and she'd know.

Her eyes misted and closed. Uther had once surprised her, entering her chamber when she was a youth to clasp a delicate, bejeweled chain around her neck. She'd questioned why and he'd simply claimed it a token of his love for her, the daughter he'd never had. She'd been so enamored of the gift and of him...until he'd asked her two months later to join him at his side on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, a position of honor.

A tear leaked from the corner of her eye at the memory. She'd forced herself to remain impassive as a boy no older than her was led to the stake to be "purified of fire." Uther had explained the manner of execution would destroy his body but save his soul. They tied him, already crying, to the wooden pole. Uther declared his crime, the fire lit, and the screams began. She'd wanted to cover her ears and wail with him. She'd looked sideways at Arthur, standing with hands behind his back, so stoic, having witnessed such events from the age of ten. Uther retreated when the boy stopped screaming. Arthur went to practice. She ran to her room and wept into her sheets.

Morgana could hardly breathe as she opened her eyes and moved from the end of the bed to its side. Her grip on the charm trembled. She had to know, _must_ know. " _Bemelde_..."

"Morgana," a breathless voice broke the chamber's silence.

Morgana dropped the charm and whirled around. Arthur stood in the doorway, tousled hair, reddened cheeks, and glistening sheen on his brow indicating he'd just returned from a hard ride. He wore his mail, and his chest heaving up and down caused its links to glimmer in the light streaming from the chamber's windows. Tears graced his eyes.

Before she could answer, a form sidled in around him, a lanky youth with raven hair just as wind blown and cheeks as flushed as his master. His blue neckerchief had even twisted sideways in the journey, and she smiled at the boy who took no care for his appearance but all for his spirit.

"Morgana!" the youth beamed and launched across the space to embrace her. She cradled him close, amused as he equaled her height by now.

"My Merlin," she murmured into his hair scented of forest and field.

"I thought you'd never come back," he mumbled into her shoulder. "That I'd lost you forever."

Morgana pushed him back, clasped his shoulders, and looked into his eyes. "How could _you_ lose me? You weren't even here." She frowned at his forehead and a bruising wound. "What happened?"

"Fell off his horse. Fainted," Arthur clipped.

"I didn't faint," Merlin argued. "Lost my balance is all."

"He's supposed to go to Gaius, but he wanted to see you first."

"I'm back and I'm fine," she assured. "Get to Gaius. Let him see to you."

"But..."

"Your lady commands it," she insisted, a finger tipping his chin halting any further protest as her expression brooked no argument. He grinned to reach his eyes and she briefly hugged him once more.

Merlin backtracked out the door. Arthur glanced into the hall to check his servant boy did as ordered. When he stepped into the room, their eyes met and he spoke softly. "We were out looking for you. We've looked for months. I thought..." He crossed the distance in three steps and wrapped his arms around her. "Morgana, I..." He choked on his words.

She clung to him. He hadn't embraced her like this in a long time. For years after she came to Camelot he didn't hug her, not until they were teens and he'd started teasingly calling her "sometime sister." He'd soon matured beyond such open displays of affection, a reserved gentleman of court. Now she felt the solidity of his muscular body and realized how very manly he'd grown. Morgause had contended Arthur was synonymous with Uther, but it wasn't so, couldn't be so. He was her brother in everything but blood; he'd never harm her.

"Arthur," she whispered. She could trust him, tell him of her trials and Morgause's claims of his father's role in her father's demise. He'd promise no such thing ever occurred, declare he accepted her, and everything would be well... The image of Arthur passively watching a boy burn returned. He'd let Mordred go, but he hadn't determined magic innocent. He'd demand she reject it, not understand it was impossible to cleanse herself even if she tried.

He pulled back, tears shining on his cheeks. She wiped at them with her thumbs. He coughed to clear his throat. "How did you escape?"

"I..." she paused to steady her breathing. "It wasn't easy." ...

* * *

 _Morgana crouched low, chanting against voices humming somewhere ahead._ Don't turn the corner. Don't turn the corner. _The voices dimmed, moving farther away, and she breathed again._

 _She'd guessed it had been a week since Morgause had forced her to view her father's body, since she'd been told a pack of lies. The witch meant to manipulate her, but for what purpose, Morgana couldn't divine. Alone in her prison, she'd begun to ponder maybe Uther was right―magic twisted a soul until one became as warped as Morgause, and if magic corrupted, then she was on a path to darkness. Someday, it would turn her. But then Aglain had come to mind, someone she couldn't possibly describe as evil, and Lancelot, a man pure of heart who'd spent time with Druids he'd called peace-loving. Conflicted and confused, she'd concluded she needed answers, but she couldn't get them here._

 _So she'd enacted a plan. She'd spent days memorizing the patterns of her jailers, noting when they brought food and when Morgause usually showed up. If she was taken anywhere, she imprinted distances and locations in her mind, building a mental map of the complex._

 _The mousy haired girl called Kara was most often left to watch her, but she had a tendency to drift off. Morgana's chance had come when the girl's head fell to her breast and she'd breathed deeply in sleep. Morgana had sat up from her feigned sleep, lifted her fingers, and silently thanked Aglain for all his hard work. The leather cord binding the key to the girl's belt had untied and the iron key had floated through the air to Morgana's hand. She'd smirked, unlocked the door, and fled._

 _Now she peeked around the corner into a long, empty hall with stairs at the end. She dashed to them, but tripped over her dress's hem when she'd clambered onto the first step. She crashed into the stone stair and bit her lip against a cry. Her shoulder ached, but she scrambled upwards, lifting her skirts. A door met her. It had to be unlocked. It must be. She pushed; it opened._

 _Glorious sunlight flooded the entrance. She paused only seconds to draw a deep breath of fresh air and admire the blue sky dotted with fluffy clouds. Life was here, and light and freedom. She shut the door and moved forward up a flight of stone stairs into...a garden? Sculpted rows of dark green hedges to her right and left indicated regular maintenance._

 _When she reached the end of the rows, the hedge to her left turned sharply right. The hedge on the right ended. She walked through the gap, only to face two more long rows of hedges without a break. She ran swiftly through them and hit another turn, this one to the left and...more hedges? Sprinting, she found these rows ended in a choice, the path splitting in two. She blinked and stared. Which way was out? She turned right again only to discover more hedges and lanes and gaps and choices. She doggedly kept on until she hit a dead end. She'd have to back track._

 _She retraced her steps, heart sinking as the truth set in. This wasn't a garden. It boasted no ponds or sculptures or flowers. It was a maze. Her father had mentioned one once, a great labyrinth somewhere in the southeast of Camelot that brave men entered but never returned from. They said it harbored a grand treasure for any who could complete it. She had always imagined a maze of stone, not rows upon rows of prickly bush._

 _She paused, recalling paper mazes her father had traced for her to puzzle out when she grew bored. She'd gotten quite good at them, but one could see the entire design on a piece of parchment. She had no clue as to the pattern or size of this physical maze. The labyrinth in her father's story had been more than two miles across and two wide._

 _"Morgana."_

 _She froze, pushing into a hedge, ignoring its prickles along her back. The voice echoed, as if speaking into a cavern and not underneath open sky. She couldn't see the owner. Was her voice magically projected?_

 _"You cannot escape. Tell me where you are."_

 _Morgana didn't dare even breathe and reveal her location._

 _"How could you go back to Uther now, after knowing what he did?"_

 _Was the voice closer? Farther? She couldn't tell._

 _"He has ruined so many. You are not alone. We will grieve with you if you let us."_

 _Morgana swallowed hard, then bolted away. She had to get out_ now. _She turned left, left again, right, and smashed into a woman in a red dress. She gasped and jerked back, but Morgause grasped her wrist, holding her fast and smiling sweetly. Morgana struggled for a few seconds, but the witch's grip was iron._

 _"Why fight me?" Morgause asked, her eyes intent and...hurt?_

 _"You lie to me," Morgana spat out._

 _"I've spoken nothing but the truth to you."_

 _"You left Camelot!" Morgana shouted, stopping her struggle. "You wouldn't know what Uther did."_

 _"I heard the tales."_

 _"How?"_

 _"Your father was not the only one tortured by the witchfinder. A dear friend of mine was as well. He watched Aredian burn and whip and cudgel Gorlois. Break his wrists and feet and legs."_

 _Morgana trembled. "You're lying."_

 _Morgause shook her upper arm in frustration. "It's true!"_

 _"Prove it! Show me this friend."_

 _"He's dead." Morgause looked away, a wave of pain crossing her features._

 _"That's convenient," Morgana scoffed._

 _Morgause released her and Morgana rubbed at her sore arm. "You can't escape the labyrinth. It requires magic."_

 _Morgana glared at her._

 _"Do you want out?"_

 _Morgana narrowed her eyes but nodded._

 _"Then I'll make a bargain with you. I'll teach you how to use your magic to see the way out. When you can get out on your own, I'll let you go. For now, I need you to return with me." Morgause beckoned and strode away._

 _Morgana didn't budge. "Teach me now."_

 _Morgause laughed. "It's not that easy to teach you the skill. It will take days, maybe weeks."_

 _"You lie again," Morgana challenged._

 _Morgause raised an eyebrow. "Maybe. And maybe not. You will only know if you listen and learn. Come."_

 _"No."_

 _Morgause huffed irritably. "You'll die here otherwise. Besides, I don't think you'll want to leave as yet. A friend of yours has come."_

 _Morgana sneered. "Another trick. Who would even know I am here?"_

 _"Someone powerful I knew would come to me eventually. That you already know him..." Morgause's eyes shone eagerly. "This is not happenstance. Fate favors us." She beckoned once again, but Morgana made no move to follow her. "Fine. Remain here. When you have weakened enough, I will return to bring you back."_

 _Morgana watched the retreating back of the witch, glanced up at the sky, then into the dizzying maze. She had no choice. She followed Morgause back towards her cage in the ground, fighting back angry tears..._

* * *

Morgana steeled her nerves before answering Arthur's question. She'd practiced her story on the way here and already related it to Gwen and Gaius. "We moved around. I watched the patterns of the guards and when they slipped up, I ran."

"All this time. You must have been so scared." She nodded mutely as Arthur embraced her again. "You're home. You're safe." Her eyes drifted to Uther over his shoulder, sleeping through the reunion. Arthur noticed. "He was greatly distressed you were taken. We don't know why he fell this way. Maybe the stress or the magic or..." Arthur's breath hitched. "He's said your name at times."

Morgana pulled away from Arthur, moving closer to the bed. "He looks...awful."

Arthur stepped up to her side. "I think we're losing him."

Morgana's hands tremored and she clasped them together. She had to do it soon. If he died before she could, she'd never know.

"Why did she take you? What did she want?" Arthur asked. She heard the enforced calm he infused into his tone. She continued to look on Uther.

"To convince me to serve them by being their eyes and ears in our court."

"They hurt you?"

Morgana looked to Arthur. "No. Morgause was insistent, but..."

"What?" His voice was tight.

"Accommodating. She just kept telling me the king had to be defeated."

"Do you know her plans?"

Morgana looked down at her hands. "She never told me. I'm sorry."

Arthur abruptly marched across the room, rummaging at his father's desk strewn with papers. He must have been using it in her absence. His father would never have let it grow so cluttered. Eyes hardened, Arthur returned with a map of nearby areas and gently clasped her elbow, directing her to the table. "Show me where you made camps. I'll find them. I swear they will receive retribution for doing this to you and him."

Morgana glanced at the parchments, heart in her throat. "I...don't know. We moved so much."

"You don't remember any landmarks?" Arthur pressed.

"Maybe..." She slumped her shoulders. "Arthur, I'm so tired. I can think about it, but right now..."

Arthur grasped her hand, pulling it up to his lips to kiss it tenderly. Blood rushed up Morgana's neck. She hated deceiving him. Even when they'd disagreed, they'd been straight with each other. Ever since magic had awakened within her she'd been forced to hide from him and it felt wrong in so many ways.

"I understand," he said. "I can wait, but not long. I'm certain they will have moved on from their last location, but if you can remember places you stayed for longer periods of time, we can identify areas they frequent."

"I'll think on it. I promise."

Arthur suddenly smiled. "I suppose I can't keep you any longer anyway. If I do, I might never be forgiven." He guided her out of the room into the hall. She tilted her head curiously, but he just grinned all the more and pressed a finger to his lips.

She wasn't sure where he intended to stop, feared him asking more questions. He halted at a guest room. He pushed the door inward, pulled her inside, and called out, "She's here."

A bearded man emerged from behind a wardrobe. "Lancelot!" She ran into her beloved's arms, and he gathered her with a grin, spinning her around. The door's latch clicked. She looked back to see Arthur had departed. Lancelot's warm hand turned her face back towards him and he pressed his lips to hers, skipping any build up and jumping right to pure passion, kissing her hard and strong. She twined her fingers in his hair and her tongue played over his lips, and for a time, her doubts were shrouded in the sensations of love.

* * *

Merlin entered Gaius' chambers, his heart lighter and all smiles. Morgana was back. Arthur'd still have his father to manage, but the weight of Morgana had lifted from his shoulders. He could at least relax a little and things could get better.

A feathery mass landed on Merlin's shoulder, but tipped to the side, unbalanced. Merlin steadied Nero with a hand. That twisted leg. He couldn't do anything about it just like he couldn't help Gwen. Gaius had tried to fix the bird, but magic made no difference.

"Morgana's back!" Merlin declared, plopping his bag onto the table.

"I've already seen her," Gaius replied, peering over his glasses, then frowning. "What now, Merlin?"

"Huh?"

"Your forehead."

"Oh. Fell off my horse."

Gaius removed his glasses, setting them on his work counter, then shuffled over to his charge, scrutinizing the wound. "You lost consciousness?" he asked as he put two fingers to Merlin's cheek and turned his head towards the windows in the room for a better view.

"No. Arthur thinks I fainted. I didn't. It was magic."

Gaius dropped his hand and his brow scrunched up. "Morgause?"

"I don't know. It was like...lightning. Went all the way through me."

Gaius gestured at the table and Merlin sat. The physician retrieved a cup, poured some wine from a pitcher, then swirled powder into the liquid. He set it before Merlin. "For any pain."

Merlin sipped from the cup. "I looked all around us, and there was nothing there."

"Hm," Gaius intoned suspiciously.

"What do you think?" Merlin asked the physician who had moved back to his work table.

"I think, Merlin, you have a link to magic far greater than any human in our world. If you sensed a disturbance, something happened, though what it might be or what it might forebode, I don't know."

Merlin sighed. "I feel so useless so much of the time," he mumbled.

"You aren't useless. You've already done so much."

Merlin stared into the goblet's red wine, his eyes reflecting back at him from its mirrored surface. He extended his magic to Nero on his shoulder, floating the bird to the table, and watched his eyes glow gold. "I could do more," he murmured.

"You know what to do about that." Gaius' tone was sympathetic, and Merlin knew he was just as concerned about the step of revealing the truth to Arthur, but Gaius agreed Nimueh had been correct. His magic would fully flourish with the completion of the bond. Gaius saw no other way forward.

"I can't." Merlin propped an elbow on the table and buried his eyes into his palm. "He'll throw me out, Gaius."

"You don't know that."

"I do."

Gaius spoke carefully. "Arthur released the Druid boy. He lets Lancelot accompany him. He has those three running Agravaine's lands."

Merlin didn't look up. Didn't Gaius know he'd thought about these things? "Arthur still thinks Mordred corruptible, he won't offer Lancelot knighthood again, and even if Uther isn't aware, he keeps Gwaine and Elyan and Percival from coming anywhere near Camelot."

"True, but, Merlin..."

Merlin raised his head. "My crime is worse." He rose from the table.

"Having magic is not a crime."

"It's lying!" Merlin shouted suddenly. "He thinks he can trust me. He'll know I've been deceitful and a coward." Merlin stomped to his room, carrying the cup with him, and shut the door. He swallowed some more wine, set the cup on his side table, and collapsed face first into his bed.

Argh! He hated Gaius continually bringing this up. The physician had been so adamant he hide his magic and now every morning it was "Will you tell Arthur today?" Merlin punched a fist into the straw mattress. Easy for Gaius to prompt when he wasn't the one who had to do it! He wouldn't endure Arthur's shock and anger and...disappointment. And he wouldn't be the one slinking back to Ealdor when Arthur made him leave.

The bedroom door opened. Merlin screwed his eyes shut, pretending he'd fallen asleep. The stool he kept across the room scraped the floor and creaked when a body sat in it. He was surprised when a tender hand laid across the back of his head. "I know it's hard, Merlin," Gaius spoke quietly. "And at times I have kept you from being who you were meant to be. Perhaps I have made you too afraid."

Merlin opened his eyes and turned his head to look up at the physician. "It's not your fault."

Gaius smiled, smoothing the hair at the base of his neck in comfort. "You have a purpose, a great one that must be fulfilled. You don't want to end up like me, hiding yourself for the rest of your life. It's no way to live."

"Gaius...What if he doesn't take it well?" Tears brimmed in his eyes. "I don't want him to hate me."

"The dragon told your mother you are two sides of a coin, and when you were separated, you were drawn back together. If he rejects you... well, I do not think it would be for long."

Merlin groaned. "But then you think it possible."

Gaius sighed. "I cannot guarantee Arthur's reaction."

Merlin closed his eyes. "I can't tell him. Not yet."

"Merlin..."

"He just got Morgana back. It's not time." Merlin heard Gaius move the stool back and the door softly shut. He'd once asked Arthur if he would hate him if he had studied magic and Arthur hadn't truly answered the question. Merlin sniffed. He'd rather face the pyre than ever suffer Arthur's hate.

* * *

A hushed voice spoke greetings and encouragement as sure fingers caressed surfaces as smooth as polished marble floors, one dull pink and another golden yellow. A drumming beat, soft but steady, emanated from the two oblong shapes appropriately displayed on separate pedestals worthy of the grand treasures they were.

"What do you feel from them today?"

Freya turned to regard Balinor, one hand still resting on the yellow egg. "Contentment. Comfort. Sleep." She smiled.

Balinor stopped next to her, eyes running over the two precious dragon eggs, as far as he knew, the last in existence. "They'd never been so settled until you came here. I always sensed agitation in their waiting. You have the calming effect of a mother."

Freya removed her hand from the egg and pulled fingers through her long, dark hair as she often did when pondering. "The bastet inside urges me to protect them. Whenever I am near them, I feel I would die for them."

Balinor smiled down at her. "Your bond with the dragons is far deeper than mine."

"Well," Freya answered, fiddling with a strand of hair, "I _am_ bonded in service. Yours is a bond of command, so maybe when you speak to them, they feel...a longing to answer your call?"

Balinor placed a hand on her shoulder. "I think you're right." He sighed. "You've been good for me. Without you, I'd have only the scaly grump to commune with."

Freya laughed. "He's not that bad. Really. And he respects you."

"I think grudgingly most of the time, but yes, I've at least earned that. How is Merlin?"

Freya recalled Balinor had left the caves the moment she and Kilgharrah last returned from Camelot. He often wandered when Kilgharrah was near. "Well. At least, physically."

Balinor frowned. "What's wrong otherwise?"

"Erm..." She ducked her head, her dark hair falling down so he couldn't see her eyes anymore.

"I don't want to know do I?"

Freya mumbled her reply. "I don't want to betray his confidence."

Balinor breathed deeply and spoke contemplatively. "Keep his secrets. You owe me nothing. It's not your fault I wasn't around to build my relationship with my son."

Freya looked up into his eyes. "He does love you."

Balinor huffed a breath through his nose. "And I hardly deserve it." He went silent and cocked his head, and Freya recognized he was listening to Kilgharrah. He straightened. "I'm needed. You stay here. I'll return."

Freya watched Balinor go, but a worry in his eyes she hadn't often seen compelled her to disobey and follow. The dragonlord exited the caverns onto the ledge and she hid in the shadow of the entrance, leaning against the rock wall and listening.

"What are you doing here?" Balinor demanded harshly.

A woman's voice replied. "We don't have time for old grudges."

"How did you even know to come here?"

"The priestesses should not have known of the Dragonlord Sanctuary," Kilgharrah's deep voice entered the conversation.

The woman laughed derisively. "Knowledge of this place has existed for centuries. We knew, but we did not care."

Kilgharrah harrumphed. "In all my visits, you did not tell me this."

"We guarded our information."

"Get out." Balinor again.

"I have..." the woman began, but the dragonlord cut in.

"You desecrate this place with your presence, and I have no desire to participate in any scheme you may be plotting."

"Peace, Balinor," Kilgharrah advised. "The priestess may have her uses."

"Oh yes," the woman shot back. "Dragons and dragonlords, so much better than all the rest of us. Yet you didn't escape the king's purge anymore than anyone else of our kind."

"We didn't meddle with creation and cause his wrath in the first place!" Balinor snapped.

"You know Uther demanded I..."

Kigharrah rumbled and a short roar shook the ledge. "Bygones! Let the past rest. Say what you have come for, Nimueh."

Freya blinked. _Nimueh_. Merlin had told her about this woman, an old priestess who had aided in Arthur's conception, tried to poison the royals, unexpectedly rescued him, and informed him he must complete his bond with the prince to be fully Emrys.

"Morgause wishes to take Camelot," Nimueh explained. "To place another on the throne who will divide Camelot into portions for kings that have her blessing, making them indebted to a new sisterhood of her own devising."

"We heard of her return," Kilgharrah admitted. "But she was never as powerful as she thought."

"She has grown in power. She has backing and support."

"You think an attack on Camelot from other kingdoms imminent?" Balinor queried.

"A single attack on the citadel when she is ready. Her goal is not to destroy Camelot, but own it. She has the means."

"Surely she doesn't think Prince Arthur will roll over to her, even with his father incapacitated?"

"She has all she needs. The blood of a seer."

"The kidnapped ward," Kilgharrah breathed. "A seer's blood..." his words faded.

"You know what such a thing means."

"What?" Balinor interjected.

"Have you been there?" Kilgharrah questioned the high priestess without answering him.

"They are gone," Nimueh replied curtly.

Kilgharrah uttered a sharp word in a strange language, and Freya guessed the term a curse in dragontongue.

" _Who_ is gone?" Balinor demanded.

"The Knights of Medhir...They have returned as foreseen long ago," Kilgharrah responded quietly.

"Knights of Medhir? An old child's tale."

"Their history is as true as the dragonlord tales of old. A seer's blood could reawaken them. The ward has paved the way."

"So Morgause will use them to attack Camelot?"

"With knights untiring and weapons enchanted, they can take the citadel all on their own and no one else need get involved." A hissing breath meant Kilgharrah had blown smoke out his nose.

"So what do we do?"

"I believe I know where Morgause hides," Nimueh answered this time. "But I need an ally and Emrys' father I assume has every desire to aid his son." She sounded smug. Balinor responded curtly.

"Of course I do. Where is she?"

"Somewhere anyone may enter, but two are needed to leave. The Labyrinth of Gedref."

"That old place?"

Nimueh chuckled. "Old and ancient and more than most know."

"She uses the complex," Kilgharrah said.

"A perfect place to hide. Underground, undetected."

"And _you_ didn't tell me about this place?" Balinor accused.

He must have been speaking to Kilgharrah who rumbled his response. "What need? The priestesses rarely inhabited it."

Balinor sighed loudly. "How much better it might have been if we'd been open with each other in the past rather than jealously protecting our secrets."

"I must go in with someone at my side,'' Nimueh spoke, ignoring the dragonlord's pontification. "We can stop her before this begins."

"Kilgharrah would be better."

"A dragon cannot penetrate the magic shielding."

"This is true," Kilgharrah confirmed. "The place is a void in my senses."

"Time is of the essence. We must go now," Nimueh urged.

There was a long pause, then Balinor spoke quietly. "I'll go pack." Freya stepped back and ducked behind an outcropping, watching the dragonlord enter the cavern and move into a side chamber used as a room.

"This will end in death," Kilgharrah's voice drifted from the entrance once more.

"After all this time, you care for my life," Nimueh retorted with humor.

"Whether it ends in your death or not, I do not know, but it will claim at least one, and so it must be."

"Dragon worries over the future," Nimueh dismissed, sounding as if she'd dealt with this before. "What you've been told may not come to pass."

Kilgharrah's voice was hushed. "We see many ends, threads of the future stretched throughout time. The tapestry forms, responding to wills, but some threads _must_ be woven for hope to endure."

"If Balinor and I are successful, perhaps we can avoid what you fear," Nimueh comforted.

"If not, the young warlock and his prince are in grave danger."

Balinor marched back out of the room, a bag slung over his shoulder, and exited to the ledge. "Well, old friend? A lift down?"

"No need," Nimueh said. "Stand close and hold to me."

A howl of wind buffeted the air and then silence. Freya left the outcropping and risked a glance at the ledge. Kilgharrah sat staring out at the expansive view, smoke curling from his nose, eyes sorrowful. Freya entered the ledge and stood next to him, admiring the breathtaking expanse revealing forests and lakes and mountains far in the distance.

"You are troubled, my lady?"

"What was that about?" she asked.

"Destiny." The word rolled from deep within his chest.

"Merlin?"

Kilgharrah said nothing, and his silence increased her unease.

"If there is a danger, will you tell him?"

Kilgharrah swung his neck around and lowered his head to look in her eyes. "What did you hear?"

Freya swallowed. "Enough."

"The young warlock does not need to know of this yet."

"But..."

"Not yet. And do not think to run off to him."

Freya's brow creased. Kilgharrah had given her a stern lecture about flying off to see Merlin. It endangered her, it endangered him, and she should keep to the caves unless Kilgharrah was with her.

"Stay, kitling. Tend the eggs and leave the future to its own devises for now." His tone brooked no argument, even though he tenderly used the nickname he'd given her, and he raised his head again.

Freya backed away, moving through the cave into the living area. She sagged down by the fire, knees drawn into her chest, feeling suddenly shivery. _This will end in death,_ Kilgharrah had said. _The young warlock is in grave danger._ She set her jaw. Merlin had to know, and if Kilgharrah wouldn't tell him, then it was up to her. She'd just bide her time until she could sneak away with none the wiser.

* * *

Twinkling light glittered down from the heavens, barely reaching the large man lying on his back in a swathe of grass growing thick after winter. The manor house was delectable, the lusty desire of most poor men's dreams, but Percival often stole out in the dead of night, preferring the simplicity of nature. He'd let his mind wander as he counted stars and identified constellations, listening to voices reawakened by his current situation. It had been so long he wasn't sure they sounded anything like they used to.

He conjured his mother, petite, but strong, hands roughened in work, his bearded father leaning over her, kissing her in broad daylight so she'd sweep at his arm and shove him away. His brother, older, grown tall and broad and serious, forever pondering and debating issues of the day. He would have made a good scholar. His sister, also older but only by a year, smelling of spices and herbs, eliciting joy instead of drudgery in her daily meal preparations.

Elyan had been right. They had been mistreated. The lord over their lands was harsh. To end up in his court... Percival shut his eyes. His father had run afoul of the lord once and been dragged off for judgment. He'd stumbled back home, and Percival had peeked outside to catch his mother tending welts along his back, strikes of a rod. His father's allotment of crops owed the lord had been increased, too. That was a lean winter and Percival's stomach had gone empty many a night.

But he'd experienced good in the midst of bad as well. He'd fished along the river with his brother, his perfect opposite chattering away about this and that while Percival contentedly listened to the man he thought brighter than anyone else in the world. He'd played tag in the rye stalks, hunkering down to hide when someone got too close, winning almost all the time. He'd savored roasted apples drawn from a bonfire to celebrate the winter solstice, their mush melting in his mouth as storytellers related stirring tales of magic and spirits.

Percival opened his eyes and rubbed at the back of his head, fingertips tracing the jagged scar that had spared him memories of his family's demise. Another lord had fought for their lord's land, and they'd been caught in the middle as usual―only it wasn't usual, because this time he lost everyone and everything. He'd been bashed in the head working in the field and remembered nothing else until he stumbled to his feet. Percival sat up, arms resting along his knees, unwilling to think further on the bodies he found and house raided, how he'd fled before the new lord could establish control.

Percival jumped when a scream interpreted his reverie. He leaped to his feet at another, glancing every which way. A third, and he ran in its direction. Voices materialized out of the night, and he cursed; he hadn't brought a sword. He flexed his fists. Well, he could handle just about anything even without. He reached the edge of the village and encountered the disturbance―a crowd of torch-wielding and tool-brandishing men. An older man stood in front of them, arms spread out to shield a girl crumpled on the ground behind him.

"You saw nothing!" the older man shouted.

"Fallard caught her! You bring a curse on our land!" one of the torch-holding men cried back.

"That's why our crops haven't produced!" another with a flail accused.

"No!" the older man defended. "It was our lord's incompetence."

"I bet she enchanted Lord Agravaine. He used to be good to us until you came!"

"I saw Lord Agravaine visit them," another villager confirmed.

"Me, too!" someone else piped up.

The man with the flail stepped closer. "Out of our way, Delvin," he growled.

"I will not let you kill her!" the older man shrieked.

Percival had seen enough. He bellowed at the top of his lungs, halting all conversation as every eye fixed on him. "What is going on here?"

Most who had been bold a moment ago looked away, glancing to the side or to the ground when confronted with one of the men bearing royal authority over them. The man with the flail that Percival now recognized as the lead village elder, Emond, pointed at the girl behind Delvin. "She's a witch. We caught her doing... _magic._ " He whispered the last word in fear.

"And what do you mean to do about it?" Percival demanded.

"A witch must be burned, my lord," the man stated as if this conclusion was obvious.

Percival stalked towards the men, stretched to his full height. They moved out of his way and he stopped to meet Delvin's pleading eyes and survey the girl shaking on the ground. She couldn't be more than seventeen. Percival turned round. "I'm not your lord," he grumbled. "But there are correct ways to make accusations. You do not execute people without permission."

"And what would you do?" Emond challenged.

"Make my accusations in the manor court."

"But we don't have..."

"You do now," Percival snapped. He stepped past Delvin and reached down to gather the girl in his arms.

"Please," Delvin begged.

"You have nothing to fear," Percival vowed under his breath to the distraught father. "Your judge is fair." He stood up and confronted the mob. "Come to the manor house tomorrow morning to present your complaint." He met Delvin's eyes. "She will not be harmed, I give you my word." He marched back into the dark, ignoring his shirt growing wet at the shoulder where the girl had buried her face.

Heaven help Elyan. His first day of a new court and his first accusation one of magic from superstitious villagers who didn't know their right hand from their left. Percival didn't even consider the description an insult―it pretty much fit what he'd once been.


	77. On Trial

**Author's Note:** Another long chapter, but the story is coming to a head. Next chapter begins rapid change. Thanks in advance for continuing to read and encourage me!

* * *

A roughened palm caressing across Morgana's cheek drew her to wakefulness. She beamed at the man leaning over her, his dark eyes exuding more tenderness than she had beheld in months. "My love," she whispered. Lancelot kissed her forehead with lips as weathered as his hands, perhaps indicative of all the time he'd spent in the wilderness searching for her. When he pulled back, his eyes bore regret.

"I must go," he said. "Arthur only gave me leave to stay the night."

She sat up as he moved away from the bed. They were still in the guest room. They'd shared it all day and night, and she'd savored each moment of idle conversation wrapped in his arms. Only when he plied her with questions of her imprisonment had she felt distressed. She had recited the same story she'd given the others but included more true detail about Morgause's actions and some of what the witch had told her regarding her father and Uther.

"Lies, Morgana," Lancelot had assured. "She only said those things that would make you join her."

"But why would she do that?" she'd asked him. "Why take me and say all that if there isn't something to it?"

"Maybe she thought you were the most sympathetic to her point of view."

And she had been. Gods, how she had been before she was taken, listening to Morgause's tale of the Blessed Massacre and the need for the king to face justice. And now, if all she'd been told turned out to be true, would Morgause earn her loyalty?

Lancelot dutifully rolled up the pallet he'd slept on during the night. Ever a gentlemen, he hadn't shared the bed with her. Panic tightened Morgana's chest as she watched him. His presence was her safe haven; when he left, all the comfort and peace she'd gained would evaporate with him.

"Can you ask Arthur for more time?" she tried.

Lancelot chuckled. "Even this concession bothered him, though he didn't admit it aloud."

"Why?" she asked, her tone hard. "He has nothing to fear from Uther."

Lancelot slung the rolled and secured pallet over his shoulder. "He doesn't fear him, but he respects him."

Morgana slid out from under the bedsheets to stand. "So he keeps you exiled from here."

"Most of the time. It's what he has to do, and he's right."

"Uther had no right to judge you so harshly," Morgana argued, moving closer to clasp the outstretched hand he offered.

"He had _every_ right. I abandoned my knighthood. He could have done much worse to me."

Morgana huffed. "Why do you always have to be so noble?"

Lancelot laughed and inclined his head close to hers. "If you only knew the things that rage in my heart. It's a good thing I have the love of an honorable woman." His wind-chapped lips touched hers and she pressed into the parting kiss, wishing it would never end, but knowing it had to. He laced his sensuous fingers through the dark waves cascading down her back as he pulled away, then he turned and departed.

Morgana followed after a few minutes, still in her nightdress and caring not a whit. She should have returned to her chambers, but her feet carried her to the same window where she'd spoken to Morgause the night before Uther's fight with the witch's champion―her father and according to Morgause, a man allowed to be tortured to death. Why would her father's shade attack Uther who was supposed to be his closest friend? Because Uther had wronged him, or because Morgause controlled him?

 _Morgana._

Morgana blinked at the voice in her mind. She should have known he'd come. _Where are you?_

 _The forest._

 _Get away! It's dangerous._

 _I'll help you._

 _Stay out of this, for my sake and yours._

A long pause. _Unless you call me._

Morgana rested her head against the window's recess. Everything was so wrong and twisted, and this voice, its owner complicated her decisions still more. Curse Morgause for dragging him into her mess...

* * *

 _"Where is she? Do you see her?" Morgause prompted._

 _Morgana tried to ignore the dizzying swirl of her stomach. The first time she'd spoken the sight spell she'd about vomited seeing the complex's halls zing by at rapid speed. Morgause had cradled her for some time, pressing a cool compress to her forehead. This time, Morgana's sight slowed, honing in on Kara in a room with light streaming down from above. "The Solarium."_

 _"Good." She could tell Morgause smiled by the tone of the praise._

 _Morgana cut off the spell and stumbled back a bit, chest heaving._

 _"You do it so well now, I'm surprised it still affects you like this." Morgause's footsteps neared and she steadied Morgana with a hand to her elbow. "Perhaps your seeing interferes."_

 _Morgana glanced up at her. "What does seeing have to do with it?" She attempted to stand tall, hating to appear weak in front of the witch._

 _"The seer is strong in you," Morgause explained, eyes alight with barely restrained energy. Morgause often seemed like a lioness, her controlled, lithe body concealing the lusts of a fearsome beast. "This ability dampens all others. If only you would remove the bracelet." Morgause reached for her wrist and Morgana jerked back._

 _"Very well," the witch said, withdrawing her hand. "Another spell then._ Wáce ierlic _!_ _"_

 _Morgana raised both her hands, immediately incanting a shield to absorb the blast, but she needn't have. Another body had thrown itself in front of her, chanting already, and Morgause was sent careening backwards, stumbling to keep her balance._

 _"You!" the witched shouted when she'd recovered. "How many times must I tell you her training is necessary!"_

 _Morgana released her shield and rested her hands on the shoulders of the boy guarding her, still short for his fourteen years. "He only seeks to protect me."_

 _Morgause glared at the boy for a moment longer, then met her gaze. "If he cannot keep from coming to your rescue, we will need to continue these sessions alone."_

 _"Or_ I _can teach her," the boy shot back._

 _Morgana sniffed, eying Morgause. "I thought you had waited in anticipation of the mighty Emrys joining you."_

 _"I hadn't expected his insolence. We've practiced enough for today." Morgause stalked away. When she'd exited the small enclosed stone atrium, graciously filtering in shafts of light from the outside, Morgana turned the boy in front of her around._

 _"You need to stop antagonizing her. She won't believe you if you keep it up."_

 _Mordred smirked. "Let her_ try _to hurt me."_

 _Morgana sighed. "You're playing a dangerous game calling yourself Emrys."_

 _Mordred only grinned. She'd been shocked when Morgause led her back to her room after her escape attempt to find Mordred sitting on her bed. He'd run to her, thrown his arms around her, and spoken aloud. Her shock kept her fortunately speechless until Morgause had left them alone. Then the boy had launched into a tale of seeking her out, having sensed her distress, coming to the Labyrinth, being brought to Morgause and declaring he was Emrys. "Emrys" was a legendary name sacred to the Druids, Mordred explained, and word had spread Morgause was seeking its owner. It was the easiest way to gain entry._

 _As for his voice, Mordred had eschewed mindpseak so Morgause couldn't listen in to anything they might say between them. He'd always been able to talk, had simply chosen not to. Morgana thought such a choice had something to do with the trauma after his mother's death at the hands of Camelot knights, but he wouldn't tell her any more of the incident._

 _Their reunion had been a blessing. She wasn't alone anymore. Still..._

 _"I hate you imprison yourself for me," Morgana said, moving over to sit down on a stone bench. Mordred followed and sat next to her leaning into her side when she wrapped her arm around him._

 _"I needed to find you. You're all I have."_

 _Morgana hugged his shoulders. "Your friend is safe."_

 _"But not here. She left me." His tone was bitter._

 _Morgana touched her head to his. "Dear Mordred, you've lost so much. Don't stay here just for me. Morgause is dangerous."_

 _Mordred shifted under her grasp. "She's right."_

 _Morgana straightened and looked down at him. "How so?"_

 _"Uther should die."_

 _Morgana looked away._

 _"He killed my mother and your father."_

 _Morgana rose and paced. "I'm not sure about father."_

 _"You don't believe her."_

 _"I don't know if I_ can _believe her."_

 _Mordred stood. "Even if Uther didn't kill your father, he can't keep killing_ us. _Your_ kin _."_

 _Morgana halted. "What has Morgause said to you?" The witch had spoken to Mordred in private more than once._

 _Mordred's eyes darkened. "She wants to use Emrys' power."_

 _"But you aren't Emrys."_

 _"Maybe I could be."_

 _Fear clenched Morgana's stomach and she crossed quickly to the boy. "Don't promise her things you can't do, Mordred."_

 _"But what if I_ can _do them?"_

 _Morgana grasped his shoulders once more, locking his eyes with hers. "We leave here together. Promise me, Mordred. You won't stay here without me."_

 _Mordred blinked once. "I promise." ..._

* * *

She had bided her time, for both her sake and Mordred's, accepting Morgause's magic lessons, much of it defense and fighting techniques. The woman was demanding and critical, so different from Aglain, but over time she'd gained Morgause's pride and she had to admit she'd come to _enjoy_ their sessions together. But she hadn't accepted Morgause's stories of past events, though the desire to know the truth grew.

Morgana toyed with the charm on the necklace again, rolling it between two fingers. Today. She'd do it today. No more delay. She'd know the truth and then she'd figure out what to do with it.

* * *

Dawn's orange glow brushed the horizon, drawing Arthur's momentary attention to stained glass windows sharpening in color. He wasn't sure how many servants he'd annoyed by commanding an early bath, but he didn't really care. He hadn't been able to sleep. Morgana had returned, but her safety hadn't done much to soothe his mind. At first he'd thought to go sit with his father, but what good would that do? He'd been asking silent questions to the man he'd once idolized for months, but couldn't receive answers. So he'd called for the bath instead, hoping it might relax him. If that's what he desired, he wasn't sure why he had laid an open book on the floor, folded his arms over the tub rim when he got in, and stared down at yellowed pages to reread a passage.

 _The high priestesses' explorations have resulted in the honing of their power, but the one ability that eludes them is the act of creation. They can manipulate elements, for example, force vines to flower or crops to produce, but they cannot create life out of nothing. This puzzles them, as ancient sorcerers were said to possess such power. Why can they not do the same with all their knowledge?_

 _The Druids disdain the high priestesses' desire to create as an unholy lust to make the natural world their plaything. Nature, they believe, rests not in the hands of man, but of the spirits. The magic that infuses each sorcerer to various degrees is allotted as intended. No more or less is to be pursued. Forcing the power of creation under one's sovereignty is to scorn the world of the spirits. Thus, any attempt to accomplish what only nature itself is allowed will result in destruction._

When he'd first read the passage, Arthur had caught the personal implications immediately, but he had slammed the book shut and refused to consider them. After all, he had Morgana to find. Now that she had been returned to him, the torment of the passage had returned tenfold.

Arthur dipped his head into the warm water, then leaned back against the tub's far side and closed his eyes, letting the water trickle down his face without interference. Maybe if he washed enough he could cleanse away doubts and fears and regrets.

 _How can you know what's in your blood? Magic formed you. Maybe it is you who are the abomination and Camelot has no heir._ The words of a dead man stung. They'd popped into his mind over the last months, taunting him when he was at his weakest. At first, he'd hated Agravaine for saying them, then he'd hated his father for making them possible.

Arthur grumbled, sitting up and grasping the soap bobbing in the water. This bath was doing nothing to relieve him. He felt more wound up than he had on waking. He reached over his shoulder as far as he could, lathering his back, then dropped the soap into the water and began to wash. He stopped, eyes glazing. Every time he did this the fleshy pads of his fingertips slid over whip scars that whispered, _Your father chose to beat you because you aren't truly his son. Magic taints you and you killed your mother._

 _He said he loved me_ , he argued with himself.

 _He has to_ , came the reply. _What else would he say to the man meant to take his throne?_

Arthur dropped his hand from his back, grasping the soap and vigorously washing at his face and chest and arms. Magic, that dirt that blackened the soul. Magic, that wasn't to be trifled with. Magic, the root of his existence. A roar escaped his lips and he slapped a hand into the water, sloshing liquid over the sides of the tub.

The doors to his chamber crashed open, slamming against the walls. Arthur jumped up from his bath, scrambling over the side of the tub, reaching for his sword.

* * *

 _Emrys...Emrys._

Merlin's eyelids flew open.

 _Emrys._

He bolted upright, looking right and left. "Who's there?"

 _Emrys, can you hear me?_

Merlin stared into the dimness, the light of the horizon just beginning to tinge his walls pink. _Mordred?_

 _Yes._

 _You're here?_

 _Obviously._ The term was spoken with derision.

 _Why? Freya's not here._

 _I know. She left me...because of you._

 _But I didn't..._

 _She told me you gave her to a beast._

 _That isn't what happened._

 _You took her away from me, Emrys._

 _Mordred, listen..._

 _No! I waited and watched. You don't do anything. Others will do what you won't. They'll stop the deaths of our kin._

 _Mordred..._ Merlin's voice stammered in his mind as his fingers worried the hem of his blanket. _Arthur saved you._

 _The prince almost killed me!_

 _He didn't turn you in._

 _Because Morgana stopped him. Without her, I would be dead._

 _M_ _—_

 _No more! I only wanted to tell you I know who Emrys is._

Merlin's brow furrowed. Mordred already knew he was Emrys.

 _I am._ The boy's declaration was decisive.

 _What?_ Merlin asked incredulously.

 _I think maybe you were meant to be Emrys, but you haven't acted like him. I will. No one else is going to die awaiting you or the Pendragon prince._

 _Arthur's making progress,_ Merlin insisted, sweaty hands now clenching the blanket.

A laugh buzzed in his head. _You're too attached to the prince to be useful. Camelot will be freed, and I'll spare you if I can. I think you mean well even if you've failed._

 _What do you plan to do?_

No answer came.

 _Mordred... Mordred!_ Merlin swung his legs off his bed and dashed through his bedroom door. Gaius, just rousing, called after him as he passed through. "Merlin, what's wrong?"

"Can't talk! Arthur in trouble!" He slung the physician's door open and proceeded to sprint down the hall and about tumble down the spiral staircase. Lancelot's previous warning about some of the Druids' desiring Arthur's death pushed his pumping legs even faster. Mordred could be one of these, sent to enact justice on their own terms.

Merlin skidded into the hall to Arthur's chamber. The guard at its end watched him pass without comment. It wasn't uncommon for the scribe to barrel through and he probably assumed Merlin was late for an assignment given him by the prince. Merlin collided with the doors and grasped their handles. They didn't budge. He shook them. Locked. Arthur hardly ever secured them. A shout he recognized as Arthur's came from the other side and Merlin's eyes burned gold. The doors unlocked and he shoved them open so hard each hit the wall. He sprinted inside, whirling around looking for Arthur and gaped in surprise.

Arthur stood beside his bathtub, stark naked and dripping water, eyes wild. He'd whipped around when Merlin entered and raised his fists. Merlin guessed he'd actually meant to go for his sword hanging off his belt dangling over the nearest chair-back.

"Merlin! What the devil―?"

Embarrassed, Merlin flushed and stammered, "You're...okay."

Arthur stepped forward and began to slip on the watery stone. Merlin ran across to prevent the prince's fall, losing his own balance when his bare feet hit a slick spot. He made to grasp onto Arthur who was both lunging for him with one hand and bracing the tub with the other. Arthur's grip kept him from falling, but the prince crunched to his knees.

"Arthur!" Merlin called out.

"I'm all right, _Mer_ lin." Arthur glowered at him. "Help me up." Merlin grasped his hand to steady Arthur's ascent. "That door was locked," the prince ground out once he stood solidly again.

"Eh...yeah," Merlin answered. "I thought...I heard you cry out and..."

"You unlocked the door?"

Merlin nodded as Arthur reentered his bath and settled once more.

"You can _pick locks_?" Arthur eyed him with suspicion.

Merlin shrugged helplessly. How in the world did he explain this one? _Arthur, I just mind-talked to someone and I thought they might kill you and by the way, I'm actually a warlock that's been lying to you ever since we met?_ Yeah, that would be the _perfect_ way to reveal himself.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Just when I think I know you, you go and do something else to surprise me." He pointed a finger in Merlin's direction. "Don't ever break into my chambers again, you hear me?"

Merlin lowered his gaze. "Yes, sire."

"Who taught you to pick locks anyway?"

"Erm..." _Think! Come up with something that makes sense!_

"And why?"

Merlin peeked up under his fringe to view Arthur's face clouded in anger. He spoke the first words that came to mind. "It's just...well, something I did in my spare time...for fun."

Arthur's eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"You know, if you mislay your key, you'd need to open a lock another way, right?" That sounded plausible, didn't it?

"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard."

" _I_ think it makes sense," Merlin defended.

"What were you doing wandering the halls in your nightclothes anyway?"

"Eh, yeah.'' Merlin looked down at his white shirt. "Just taking a walk."

Arthur shook his head and the barest of smiles graced his lips. "Well, now that you're here, you might as well pick up that stack." He nodded with his head to his desk. "Things that needed my attention while I was out on patrol."

"Councilors in a dither again?" Merlin asked. He'd meant to look at the desk, but as he moved his eyes towards it, he spied something lying on the ground next to the tub he never would have expected: a book.

"I don't know how my father put up with them, and now _I_ have to." Arthur had soaped his hair and ducked under the water to rinse.

Merlin wandered over to the book, retrieving it from the floor. Droplets dotted its surface from Arthur's accidental fall.

The blond must have come back up because he was suddenly crying out, "That's an official record for my eyes only. Close it and put it on my desk _now_."

Merlin might have obeyed if he hadn't caught several words. _High priestesses...Druids...magic._ His eyes widened and he swiveled to Arthur. "You're reading about _magic_?"

"Of course not." Arthur met his gaze.

"But this says..."

"Put it down!" Arthur roared.

Merlin jumped at the loud shout and reflexively shut the book. He rushed to Arthur's desk, setting it down, but braced his palms on the desk, back to Arthur, his mind racing. Arthur was reading about magic. Could this mean...maybe he was looking into it...maybe there was a _chance_?

"Merlin." Arthur spoke apologetically. "I didn't mean to yell... and it's not what it seems."

Merlin slowly turned around, heart pummeling his chest. "What is it then?"

Arthur sat back in the tub, rubbing at his eyes. "When Leon went through Agravaine's estate, he found books written a long time ago about..."

"Magic," Merlin whispered when Arthur hesitated, the war to reveal himself raging within.

Arthur sighed and didn't look at him. "Yes." He grabbed the soap floating in the water and went about finishing his bath. "I thought perhaps I could find something in them that would explain what's happened to my father."

Merlin swallowed. "And what have you found?" he asked hoarsely.

"Nothing," Arthur spat out. He rose from the bath, leaned over to swipe a towel from a chair, and dried down. He carefully stepped out of the tub. As he moved to the dressing screen, Merlin noted the raised ropy lines striping his back. Frustration rushed to the forefront. How much could Arthur take, how much could he experience, before he gave in to the truth?

"What _do_ the books say?"

"Stuff." Arthur's muffled voice replied.

Merlin scowled at the screen, ignoring Arthur's obvious warning not to talk about the contents. "Like what?

"Do you mean do they absolve your mother?" Arthur's tone was sharp and Merlin responded in kind.

"Why do you always assume I'm talking about her." He crossed his arms over his chest, perching against the desk's edge.

Arthur emerged dressed in a red shirt and brown trousers. "Who else would you be thinking of?"

"No one," Merlin muttered.

"There's nothing in these books that concerns you. They aren't for you."

"But _you_ can look at them?" Merlin challenged.

" _I_ possess the ability not to be sucked into them. And they're probably all lies anyway." Arthur paced to his bed, leaning a shoulder against one of his bed posts.

Merlin glanced at the book on the desk. _Arthur has to know magic can do good_ , Lancelot had insisted. An idea came to Merlin and he tried to soften his tone. "What if you could save your father with magic?"

Arthur snorted. "He would never forgive me. Your mother might have dabbled in magic, Merlin, but..." Arthur broke off, running a hand through his damp hair.

"But what?" Merlin prompted.

"It's something we can't ever pursue here." Arthur's blue eyes nailed him. "Do you understand me, Merlin? Magic doesn't belong in Camelot."

Merlin's brows scrunched up as his stomach flipped. "Arthur, the Druids, some of them are angry and they want to hurt you."

"You've been talking to Lancelot."

"Maybe if you...you know...now that your father isn't in charge...made some peace with them..."

"Didn't you hear me?" Arthur said, pushing off the post. "I can't! What would it look like, me going to them, groveling to them. I'm not going to undermine my father."

"But with Mordred you did and..."

"No!" Arthur shouted. "Let this go. I don't want to hear you ever mention it again."

A burning flame that had built in the middle of Merlin's chest burst forth. "You were born because of magic! How can you treat people that have it like they're evil? What does that mean about you?"

"Get out." Arthur's tone was low and dangerous.

Merlin's heart leaped into his throat and pounded in his neck. "Arthur, I didn't mean...I did, but...I need to..."

"Get. Out."

Merlin bolted for the doors, flinging them open and rushing back down the hall, one thought pounding into his brain. _I can never tell him. Never._

* * *

Percival approached the guarded door of a fine bedroom in the de Bois manor house, a plate of food held in one hand. The guard looked up as he approached.

"I don't like it," the man growled.

"You've been saying that all morning," Percival noted.

Gwaine folded his arms over his chest and glanced at the door, envisioning the girl beyond it he'd tasked himself with protecting. "She's a shy dairy maid, not a witch. She's terrified."

"I carried her in," Percival reminded his agitated friend. "I know she's scared."

"You should have gotten her out of here."

Percival rubbed at his forehead with his free hand. "And where would she go? Or her father? All they own is here. Their life is this land. They can't afford to lose everything they have."

"Listen, Percival..."

"No. You listen." Gwaine's mouth snapped shut. The large man hardly ever commanded so directly or harshly. "When you're tied to manor lands, you can't pick up and leave. Delvin struck a bondage with Lord Agravaine and his years are not complete. If he leaves, he is a fugitive and so is she. I've seen what happens when fleeing serfs are found and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy." Percival's eyes had grown wet and Gwaine, having never seen his friend cry, spoke softly.

"But we're not Lord Agravaine."

Percival laid a hand on Gwaine's shoulder. "Yes. And this means she can face her trial and then stay. Elyan will do what's right." Percival gripped the door's handle. As the man entered, Gwaine stood in the doorway watching as the giant approached the girl sitting on the floor in front of the fire, still so very pale. Yet she forced a smile when Percival sat down and laid the plate in front of her. She seemed even more fragile next to the big man.

Gwaine scoffed internally. She couldn't be a witch. Such a thing was ridiculously impossible.

* * *

Elyan paced back and forth in the manor house receiving room. He had set up a desk and several chairs in anticipation of his first official court session, but he'd never expected to handle such an accusation as awaited his decision making. A servant had woken him in the early morning hours to inform him Percival asked for him. He' been unnerved. The three friends might have been living in a manor house, but they weren't acting like pretentious nobles. Percival should have come himself.

He'd found the giant of a man standing guard outside one of the bedrooms. His friend had grimly explained events that had taken place and a girl accused of magic. Elyan had stood aghast and when they'd peeked into the room to glimpse her asleep atop the coverlet of the bed, Elyan had commented if she was a witch, she certainly hadn't done herself any favors by not escaping.

Percival was of the opinion the villagers were a superstitious lot using the girl as a scapegoat, but an official court and declaration were needed to clear her. Elyan stopped pacing at a window with a view of the manor lawn where at least a dozen men had gathered awaiting entry. They were speaking in low tones, but their faces bore angry expressions. He feared this wasn't going to go well no matter what he decided.

He strode to the desk where he sat in its chair, head in his hands. He'd been a fool. Oh, he hadn't been wrong to stand against injustice, but he had assumed a lord's moral decisions a simple affair when they were far more heavy and complex.

The door opened and Percival appeared with the girl. She was slight in build, white as cream, auburn hair trailing down her back, clutching tightly to Percival's arm. Percival maneuvered her to a seat in a chair at the side of the desk.

"Have you eaten?" Elyan inquired, trying to sound emotionally detached as he thought it necessary remain impartial.

The girl nodded. "Yes, my lord."

A smile escaped his control. "I'm not a lord."

"But you rule over us."

"Only temporarily."

The girl dropped her eyes to her lap. Elyan looked to Percival. "Her father?"

"Gwaine's bringing him along with the others."

Elyan nodded and his eyes went to the door, already hearing the crowd approach. "Percival, you stand next to her. I don't want any of them attempting to attack her."

Percival dipped his head once and took up a position next to the girl's chair. When the door opened once more, the girl didn't even look up. In fact, she closed her eyes as if pretending she wasn't here, though the hands clasped in her lap shook.

Gwaine, gesticulating, commanded the villagers into order. "You three sit at the front. The rest of you in the back and keep quiet." There was unease in Gwaine's tone and he glanced at Elyan with a smoldering gaze. He'd been railing all morning about the stupidity of the villagers.

Once everyone was situated, Elyan cleared his throat. "You have come here to make your accusation against this girl, Sefa, daughter of Delvin." He indicated the girl, who sat stock still, eyes remaining shut. He noted the man in the front row sporting red rimmed, fearful eyes and guessed he was her father. "I will listen to witnesses. Who wishes to present evidence?"

Gwaine snapped his fingers and two men also on the front row stood. Gwaine's hand went to the hilt of his sword. One of the men glanced at the rogue and swallowed hard as if reconsidering even making a claim. Elyan cleared his throat again to get Gwaine's attention and shook his head slightly, warning him hostility wouldn't help anything.

"What did you observe?" Elyan asked.

"I saw _her_ ," a grizzled man said, pointing at Sefa, "speakin' to her cow."

Elyan tried very hard not show his amusement. This would be easier than he thought. "And what was she saying?"

"Strange words. Magical words."

"Do you recall them?"

"I t'aint a sorcerer!" the man replied incredulously.

"Then how do you know it was magic?" Gwaine interrupted.

The man glared at him. "It weren't English. And after she said it, the cow moaned low and gave forth more milk than I ever seen."

The girl's father was suddenly speaking out. "It was just a prayer in Latin, asking the Almighty to bless our production." The other villagers began to argue back and voices rose.

"Silence!" Percival ordered. "Only the judge may speak."

Elyan cringed inside when all eyes came back to him. "Is that all you have to say?" he asked quietly. The man nodded. Gwaine grabbed the man's arm and practically shoved him back into his chair. Elyan sighed. He'd have to talk to Gwaine about courtly propriety later.

Elyan looked to the next witness. "What testimony do you bring?"

"I...I..." This man was younger, maybe a couple years into manhood. His eyes briefly fluttered between the girl and Elyan. "She did it in front of me once. Showed me."

"You said you loved her!" Delvin cried out. Percival stepped to the father and put a hand on his shoulder, silencing him.

"Go on," Elyan murmured, feeling like a hard rock had plunked into his stomach.

"She touched the cow and she said strange words and...her eyes changed yellow." The crowd murmured and some shook their fists at the girl. "I swear it on my life. She even told me it were magic."

"Anything else?" The man shook his head. "You may sit." The man zipped to his seat before Gwaine could put him there.

Elyan moved behind the desk to the girl. "Sefa? What do you say to these accusations?"

The girl slowly opened her eyes. She scanned the villagers and then rested her sight on her father. Finally, she turned to Elyan. She opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head, looking back into her lap.

"She has no answer!" This voice Elyan recognized as Emond, a village elder.

"She's scared!" Gwaine snapped back.

"Because she _is_ a witch!" another villager called out. More voices raised and Elyan knew very soon he'd lose all control. He'd been the instigator of enough mobs to sense when they teetered on the edge of hysteria.

"I will speak to the girl myself," Elyan declared. "Gwaine, escort them out."

More voices clamored, but Gwaine unsheathed his sword and brandished it at them. Percival moved to Gwaine's side and between them they ushered the crowd out. Elyan crouched in front of the girl. "Sefa? No one's here. You don't have to be afraid." Gods, she wasn't much younger than Gwen.

Tears brimmed in the girl's eyes. "I...can't tell you anything."

"You don't have to fear them."

"I do," she buried her head in her hands. "But I'm so tired of hiding."

Elyan's heart sank. He wished he'd never thought of this stupid court, never agreed to handle Agravaine's lands for Arthur until an appropriate lord could take over.

Percival returned and Elyan stood. "Take her back to her room." Percvial aided the girl out the door at the same time Gwaine reappeared.

"Well?" the rogue prompted. "Go tell them to shove off."

"She admitted it," Elyan murmured.

Gwaine's eyes rounded. "She told you she did magic?"

"Not in so many words..."

"It's stupid, Elyan!" Gwaine shouted, stomping towards him. "If she was a witch, why risk magic on a _cow_?"

"Because they were starving." Percival's voice entered their discussion.

"I thought you were guarding the girl," Elyan spoke carefully. _Please tell me you've let her go._

"Neel took her." Head of the new watchmen. "When you don't have much," Percival spoke on, "you take your nourishment where you can find it."

Gwaine threw out a hand. "So, even if she does have it, she didn't do anything wrong."

"She used magic, Gwaine," Elyan said. "That's a crime."

"It's a crime to take care of yourself?"

"It's the worst crime you can commit in Camelot," Elyan tried to explain.

"Because Camelot's king is a raging despot," Gwaine snapped. "Or don't you remember saying that?"

Elyan scowled. He had said that. "Arthur expects us to do what's right, follow the law..."

"I can't believe you're saying this!" Gwaine threw his hands up in the air. "So what do you plan to do? Set up a stake and burn her?" Gwaine didn't often get riled, but when he did, he was like a viper sinking his poisonous fangs deep into your flesh.

"The punishment for magic is death," Elyan whispered.

Gwaine slowly unsheathed his sword. "You won't walk out that door to tell them that."

Percival stepped to Gwaine's side. "Stop."

"I'm not letting you kill the girl for using magic!" Gwaine's seething eyes didn't leave Elyan.

"Arthur..." Elyan began.

"He asked me about magic," Gwaine revealed. "He doesn't think like King Uther. He's a good man. He wouldn't allow this."

"Take her to Camelot." Percival's voice rang loudly in the room to silence his two friends, both of their mouths open to continue their arguments. "Trust Arthur to judge her."

A weight lifted from Elyan's shoulders. Maybe it was cowardly to pass the judgment on to someone else, but he grasped at the chance. "Agreed."

"Gwaine?" Percival prompted.

Gwaine let out a long breath. "All right, but she'll be under my protection all the way there." Elyan nodded consent. Percival pulled at Gwaine's shoulder as the man added, "And I talk to Arthur first." He held out his hand.

Elyan shook it, striking the deal. After Percival dragged Gwaine out the door and it closed, Elyan's shoulders slumped as he sagged into the desk chair. He wasn't a lord. He wasn't a master. He wasn't made to be either, and he couldn't be more glad of the fact.

* * *

Arthur had spurned the council meeting he was supposed to attend. No doubt they'd send a servant to find him and remind him. He was sick to death of reports and haggling and squabbles. He rubbed at his forehead with a finger and thumb. Even so, when the servant arrived, he'd go as always, duty bound to his people's needs.

He had hoped Gwen might be here. Their embrace in this very room two days ago had lingered in his mind. Gwen in his arms brought more comfort than anything else, though Merlin's presence was a close second. Arthur clenched his hand into a fist and his cheeks warmed. He hadn't meant to let loose so harshly on his scribe, but it had been necessary.

He'd been petrified when Merlin inquired about the book, that the youth would see his reading as permission to explore magic. He already had his mother as a bad example and had defended her actions way too much for Arthur's comfort. He could only imagine what Merlin might do if he hinted at his doubts about magic's evil. Goodness, Arthur already suspected the boy might have learned a spell or two from his mother or someone else. He just didn't understand why Aredian or Agravaine would peg the boy as a magic user otherwise or Nimueh keep showing up. It couldn't be just because of that ruddy pet kestrel.

And if Merlin _had_ dabbled at some point? Arthur had avoided the question most of the time because the answer was unthinkable. The youth could be caught, dragged before the throne, and Arthur could be staring down at him bound by his father's laws. How in heaven's name could he order Merlin's death? But how could he deny his father's laws meant to protect Camelot?

Arthur lowered the hand at his forehead. He pushed forward in his seat, balancing on his chair's edge to get as close as he could to the man in the bed. Uther stared blankly up at the canopy, eyes flicking back and forth now and then. Arthur reached out to curl his fingers around the man's hand. "Father," he whispered. _What do you think of me?_ Six scars on his back argued for a father so detached he could order his son whipped to bleeding. But even they couldn't squelch a lifetime of remembering a sure hand covering his teaching him movements with the sword, pride in a smile when he'd been victorious at tournaments, or fear etched on a brow when sickness threatened to take his life.

Arthur may have been harsh with Merlin, but the wound the youth had given him had pierced like a well targeted bolt sunk into a buck's heart. Arthur clutched his father's hand tighter. "Why did you do it?" _What does it make me?_

Merlin had asked how he could treat people who had magic as evil when he had been born of it. That question haunted him daily, though he hadn't articulated it so clearly until Merlin had done it for him. What did magic do in creating him? Was he a son of Uther? Of Ygraine? Of neither?

Arthur bowed his head to the bed. What flowed in his blood? His parents or something else? And what if his father had turned on magic not because it was evil at its root, but because it had taken his wife and given him a poor heir in exchange? If true, it would mean so many had suffered who never should have.

"Arthur?"

The tender voice speaking his name broke his pondering. He let go his father, straightening. Morgana was framed in the doorway, her presence evidence of magic's corruption. A witch had kidnapped her. Perhaps Morgause de Bois had a grievance against his father, but to involve an innocent like his sister in all but name... Arthur firmed his jaw. Maybe Druids sought out magic ignorantly and innocently, but not the high priestesses of old. They had murdered Pendragon soldiers in cold blood.

Arthur rose from his seat and met Morgana as she crossed the room. They embraced briefly. "It's killing you to see him like this," Morgana read his distressed expression. Arthur's breath hitched in his throat. It killed him in more ways than she knew.

"Sire?" A servant had arrived as Arthur knew he would and he was actually grateful. He could get away from here and the questions that tore at him. "The council awaits you."

Sympathy shone in Morgana's green depths as she nodded to him. "I'll stay with him."

Arthur held out his hand, desperate to feel her touch once more, to tangibly know she stood in front of him, safe and well. Morgana clasped his hand. "I'm so glad you've returned. I need your strength to get me through this." He let go and departed.

* * *

Morgana's gaze remained on the closed door once Arthur had left. She loved him dearly and so despised her fear of him. He made concessions for Lancelot but upheld his imposed exile because of his father. He wouldn't turn on all Uther had taught him. He could never be a friend to magic.

She pulled her eyes from the door to the worn man in the bed made incognizant by Morgause's machinations. Justice, Morgause asserted. Was it?

Morgana moved to the bedside and sat. Uther's eyes flicked to her, then back to the canopy. Was it right to invade the mind of a disabled man? It was probably the only way she could get away with what she was about to do and know the truth for certain.

Morgana unhooked the silver chain from her neck and slid off its charm. She held out her palm, the golden orb resting in its center. Her lips trembled. _Your strength_ , Arthur said. _Be strong_ , her father echoed.

" _Bemelde p_ _á sópsage_ ," she incanted. The rounded charm dissolved into shimmering, swirling dust wending its way towards Uther Pendragon.


	78. Deceit Uncovered

**Author's Note:** I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. We're fighting sickness in our home and it's been a very long week.

* * *

Having poked into Arthur's chambers and not found the prince or Merlin, Gaius had inquired if the guard in the hall had seen either. He was informed the prince's scribe had left a while ago, and a servant had come searching for the prince to call him to council, but Arthur had already departed. Gaius felt a bit reassured that both of them were apparently well in spite of Merlin's abrupt departure from his rooms. He headed for the council chamber, and reaching the hall to it out of breath, paused with his hand along a stone stair bannister to recover himself. A tapping caught his ear and he peered up at the stairs' landing. A foot he knew by sight poked out from the second flight.

Gaius fought his aching bones, climbing the stairway as fast as able, stopping on the landing to survey the second flight. Merlin lounged on the bottom step, one hand absently slapping against stone in boredom or agitation.

"Here you are," Gaius noted and raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

Merlin continued to concentrate on his hand hitting stone. "Guarding Arthur."

"He's well?"

"Fine."

"Shouldn't you be in council then?" Arthur almost always demanded Merlin accompany him to take notes during meetings.

"The _prince_ didn't ask for me," Merlin explained.

Gaius settled a hand on the boy's head and Merlin halted his drumming of the step. "Did you tell him?" Gaius asked quietly, though he assumed he'd have heard something by now if the boy had revealed the truth.

"I'd probably have my head chopped off by now if I had," Merlin snapped.

Gaius lowered himself next to the boy, moving his hand from his crown to his knee. "What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You ran out of our chambers so quickly. Something made you do so."

Merlin slapped two hands to his cheeks, then slid them downwards in frustration until his long fingers framed his chin. "It's all so complicated and stupid and I hate it."

Gaius squeezed his knee. "What is?"

Merlin blew out harshly. "Everything! It was Mordred. He talked to me. He's here somewhere, and I think he might mean to hurt Arthur because if he's here then other Druids might be here, and some of them want to get back at Arthur because his father is a dollophead. And Arthur thinks magic is wrong because Uther told him, and anything I say just gets ignored. And I can't really help him because I'm always restricted by having to keep quiet and hide everything I do!"

Gaius opened his mouth to reply, but Merlin kept on.

"And the worst of it is I can't _stop_ trying to make him see sense! I don't want to sometimes, but it's like I _have_ to."

Gaius abruptly stood. "Up, my boy." He grasped Merlin's hand and the boy followed his pull. "Go back to our rooms. Get out of your nightclothes, comb your hair, wash, and eat."

"But Arthur―"

"Will keep until you're back." Gaius prodded him in the back and down the stairs. "I'll keep watch. You go."

Merlin sighed. "I shouldn't."

"You _should_. I may be old, but I'm not useless. I can assure you Arthur won't die in the time it takes to see to your _own_ needs."

Merlin padded away, a hint of relief gracing his expression. Gaius strode the opposite direction, down the hall to the council chambers. He steeled himself and opened the door. Arthur looked his way, as did his council.

"Gaius," the prince greeted. "Is something amiss?"

"Yes, sire. I must speak with you privately."

"We're in the middle of an important..."

"It is urgent, my lord."

Arthur glanced at councilors as perplexed as he and stood. "All right. I'll be only a moment." He beckoned to Gaius who followed him into a side chamber. When the door shut, he turned. "What is it?"

"I have served your father most of my life and you your entire life. I hope this has earned me a hearing and you will consider my words before making a judgment."

Arthur's brow scrunched. "Of...course."

"I'm afraid, my lord, I have kept my mouth shut for far too long."

* * *

"This would have been easier if you'd transported us closer," Balinor grumbled as he swung his sword into a clump of vines, hacking a way through.

"If I could, I would have," Nimueh answered, pushing past the dragonlord when the way was clear. "When you're as old as me, you'll preserve your energy as well, physical _and_ magical. We're here."

Balinor joined the former high priestess on the crest of a hill. Below, a circular maze formed out of stone filled the landscape. "I've seen this from the air. Hasn't Kilgharrah?" He recalled the dragon saying he wouldn't be able to sense anything at the labyrinth.

Nimueh started down the hill and Balinor strode parallel to her. "Kilgharrah only sees a flat piece of land devoid of detail and feels nothing."

"How did you manage magic strong enough to hide this place from dragons?"

"The rite is unique, and at the time it was used, we weren't on good terms with the dragons."

Balinor huffed a snide laugh. "You've never been on good terms with the dragons."

"We respect each other and that is enough."

"Don't you feel _any_ responsibility for their deaths?"

"Do not blame me for Uther's sins."

"You played with creation. You knew what would happen."

"I did not _know_."

"We'd all been warned a thousand times not to meddle in such things, but you felt yourself superior to―"

Nimueh stopped and rounded on the dragonlord. "I wanted to help the queen!" Her entire body quaked with emotion. "She was a fine woman and she deserved a child."

Balinor stared at the quivering woman, suddenly sorry he'd berated her without mercy. "Did she know what you did?"

"No. We didn't tell her. Uther wanted her to think..." Nimueh broke off, overcome.

Balinor finished quietly. "She had conceived on her own."

"Yes." Nimueh's hand caressed her abdomen. "There's something about a child in your womb. He commands your love before he even leaves your body. He depends on you for life and existence, and you cherish him. Uther did not wish his wife to doubt the child's mode of conception, and I did not want to steal her joy."

"You shouldn't have done it," Balinor muttered.

"If I confess you're right, what does it change? Does it wipe out my exile? Does it restore my children? Does it remove the memories of your torture or the deaths of the dragons?" Nimueh stared at him intently, waiting for an answer.

"It can't change it," Balinor admitted.

"Then why dwell on it?" She stalked towards the labyrinth.

Balinor caught up to her. "Is this why you help Merlin? To change the past?"

"To forge a better future," Nimueh mumbled, "so no more may suffer as we have."

They'd almost reached the entrance of the labyrinth when Balinor found his voice once more. "We should have helped each other. We fought internally and weakened ourselves for Uther."

"Perhaps," Nimueh said, "you and I can fashion a new bond in the light of Emrys."

Balinor cocked his head thoughtfully. "Yes."

"Then come." Nimueh clasped his hand, pulling him through the arched entryway. Balinor gasped.

"It's...green."

Nimueh smirked. "A stone labyrinth only to outside eyes." She marched between flourishing hedges and incanted, her eyes glowing and darting here and there as she walked. Balinor had observed this before, a sight spell. He'd never been able to master it. "It continually shifts as it grows, its solution never the same from one day to the next. It can never be mapped."

A tingle played up and down Balinor's spine. "The magic is old. Very old. Who created it?"

"You're perceptive. Not us. Mages of the past, as far back as the native pagans that first claimed this land. We discovered its secrets." Nimueh's mouth curled up smugly. "Behold the power of knowledge and experimentation."

"Such things didn't work out well for the queen," he reminded her, unable to refrain from casting the barb.

"It did not." If she was repentant, he couldn't tell. After quite some time, a flight of descending stone steps appeared in the middle of a path. "The labyrinth changes, these do not. They lead into the complex." She descended and stopped at a door, a hand pressed against it. She eyed him. "Leave Morgause to me."

Balinor acknowledged with a brief nod. Nimueh pushed open the door, moving silently beneath the surface of the maze.

* * *

 _The candleless room held no fear for Morgana anymore. She'd spent so long in the underground compound it had become like a familiar house. After months, they'd also left her without a guard. She'd behaved, feigned interest, submitted, and learned. And now it was time._

 _In spite of her controlled exterior, her insides churned as a tumultuous sea. Morgause had recited stories throughout her captivity about priestesses, Druids, dragonlords,_ children _―_ _all murdered in Uther's war on magic. She had known of Uther's actions of course, attended executions herself, and yet she'd been able to somehow detach to keep on functioning. But the possibility Uther may have also killed her father turned all her experiences personal. She yearned to confirm the truth and Morgause had given her the way, but_ she _would decide the time._

 _A series of taps sounded at her door. She jumped up from her seat on the bed, incanting a spell to produce a thin light in her palm. She pulled open the door and Mordred slipped inside._

 _"You did it?" she asked._

 _He nodded. "You can go to her." He shoved a heap of clothing into her hands. She backtracked to a dressing screen. "Light?" Mordred's own magical light filled the room with a soft glow. It was similar to hers, but he could make it float in a tight orb and direct it wherever he wanted. It hovered over the space behind the screen. She hurriedly shimmied out of her dress. She'd been provided several gowns during her stay, one high priestess red. She'd never worn that one. She didn't want Morgause to think she'd won._

 _Morgana threw on the pants and shirt Mordred had stolen. They were a man's, a little large, but she used a belt to cinch the clothing together. She'd move far more quickly dressed like this. When she left the screen, Mordred drew his light back to his hand._

 _"Ready?" she asked._

 _"Ready," he confirmed._

 _Sneaking through the complex was an easy matter. Morgana sent out her sight in short bursts so as not to get dizzy and they avoided anyone in the halls. They reached Morgause's room. Morgana glanced at Mordred and he nodded encouragingly. She opened the door and moved inside, risking enough light in her palm to navigate by._

 _Morgause lay in her own bed on the right side of the room, facing her with eyes shut, breathing deeply. Morgana's heartbeat raced, even though she knew Mordred had employed magic to propel the witch into a deep slumber. She tiptoed across the room to a cabinet tacked to the wall, unlatched its door, and sighted her goal. As she reached for a small object, she recalled its creation._

 _The witch had brought her into this very room, stirred a powder into liquid within a wide cup, then picked up a knife and asked for her hand. Morgana hadn't responded right away, so Morgause had snatched her hand and set the knife to the inside of her arm in quick succession. Blood had welled and she had tried to pull away in reaction, but Morgause had held fast, squeezing her muscle so blood dripped into a bowl._

 _"Let me go!" she'd demanded, horror etched on her face._

 _Morgause had set the bowl down, grasped a cloth, and pressed it to the wound, then let her go to hold it herself while she shook a couple drops of the blood into the liquid mixed with powder. The witch had picked it up and whispered a spell. The liquid had spun, grown smaller, and tightened into a golden ball._

 _Morgana fixated on the sleeping Morgause as she lifted the round charm on its chain. Morgause had challenged her to return to Camelot and use it on Uther. It would force him to speak the truth about anything concerning her and she would hear testimony from his own lips concerning her father. Morgana had refused to take it, but the possibility of knowing for sure about her father ate at her, and she sensed the charm calling to her day after day, begging her to use it. She'd finally decided she would_ _―_ _on her own terms and in her own timing._

 _Morgana hooked the chain around her neck, shut the cabinet, and hurried back to the door and out. Together, she and Mordred followed a path to the entrance, employing sight as before. Dark velvet dotted with sparkling gems hooded the sky when they exited into the labyrinth. The maze was simple to solve with her newfound sight skill. Reaching the entrance, she tried to pass through an arch, but gasped when she hit an invisible barrier._

 _"It takes two sorcerers to exit," Mordred explained._

 _Morgana frowned at him. "How do you know that?"_

 _"I got her to tell me how to get out." He put his palm to the barrier. "_ Onhlíd pone weġ. _Put your hand here. Say it, too."_

 _Morgana did as Mordred instructed. The air fizzled in front of them and slowly, they both pushed through the barrier like sluggish mud. Morgana breathed shallowly when they made it to freedom. Mordred barely had broken a sweat._

 _Morgana held out her hand and he took it. "We'll get you to the Druids."_

 _"I want to go with you."_

 _"You know you can't go to Camelot."_

 _"Let me come."_

 _"We discussed this." Morgana touched his forehead with hers. "I won't be happy unless I know you're safe. Come." They sprinted away into the woods._

* * *

Uther Pendragon breathed long and deep. Golden dust seeped into his nasal cavities. His forehead creased, he mumbled, and when his eyes shot open, Morgana lost all breath in her lungs. Uther's seemingly cognizant gaze drifted over to her.

"Morgana." He sounded relieved. "Morgana. Precious in my heart."

Morgana jolted. An image of herself as a child with shoulder length hair about the age of three had flashed before her eyes. Her hand pressed hard into the down mattress. Morgause hadn't mentioned anything about _seeing_ the truth. Was this because of her own special brand of magic? She recovered her voice and whispered, "Did you care for my father?"

"A brother to me," Uther responded, as if in easy conversation over dinner. Another picture, her father, riding and laughing and reaching out to clap someone on the back. She must be seeing from Uther's perspective.

Morgana could barely utter the next question. This was the moment she'd dreaded for months. "How did..." She swallowed hard. "How did he die?"

Uther didn't reply and the image she saw was muddled, like viewing a mesh of colors through a rain drop. She felt a wall had been lifted and irritation flooded her. She spoke more forcefully. "How did Gorlois de Bois die?"

"Batt―batt..." Uther stammered.

Morgana shook him at the shoulder. "Tell me! How?"

"Accusation...witchfinder...dungeon..." Uther broke off and a wailing sob ushered forth from deep within his chest. Another image, only this one moved, a rush to a man chained to a wall, bare, crusted with blood, hardly recognizable. Morgna's heart stopped when his cracked and swollen lips emitted a voice she knew well. _Kill me, Uther, but spare her. She's done nothing._ Then Uther's hoarse voice cried, _Gorlois!,_ and he wept. She snapped back to the moment, frozen, her hand on Uther's shoulder, nails digging in as her mind fought to digest the truth.

"Mine," Uther mumbled, tears dripping from the corners of his eyes. "Mine." An image of a baby, held in someone's arms, a woman's slender ones.

Morgana's eyes rolled to Uther's.

"My daughter. My blood." Another mobile scene of a woman with hair dark as hers, sporting a jaw and eyes like hers, a hand resting on her abdomen. _The child is yours!_ she accused. An answer came. _No._ Then rapid fire conversation.

 _You're the only one who's shared my bed._

 _It can't be._

 _It is and you know it._

 _The child can't be born._

 _What do you mean?_

 _There is only one recourse._

 _Kill it? No, Uther, never._ The woman's eyes flashed fire.

 _Don't go against me._ A low, growled threat.

 _Or you'll kill me to kill it? Will you kill Morgause, too?_

 _If you force my hand, I have no choice!_

 _You're a monster._ The woman backed away. _An adulterer to your wife and you'll fix it by murdering our child?_

A fist raising to strike, and the woman fled, shouting.

 _I'll see you dead first, Uther Pendragon. You won't lay a hand on either of my children!_

Morgana had gone rigid. Her pulse stuttered. Her skin paled. She didn't breathe. She was dying.

"Bold. Stubborn. Courageous. Like me." Uther's eyes softened as he gazed into her face. "My daughter. Loved you...later." She saw herself once more, arriving in Camelot as an angry ten year old forced to the citadel, her livid green eyes boring into the man who'd declared himself her guardian. _Welcome, Morgana. I am so glad to have you here._

Morgana started at wetness sliding down her cheeks, dampening the neckline of her dress. Fire burned up her veins. Electricity sparked along her skin. Her eyes flamed. Uther screamed.

* * *

The corners of Morgause's mouth turned upwards. She spared a moment to savor the satisfaction of being utterly justified, then opened her eyes. Seven masked knights dark as death surrounded her. She didn't need to speak a word. The time had come. The true Pendragon heir saw and believed. She surged ahead, marching in victory. Caemlot would know freedom once more.

* * *

Kilgharrah rolled over, banging his side into rough stone and popping his eyes open at the rude awakening. He hissed a warm breath and growled. His left side itched out of reach. _Curses!_ He pressed into the stone and wiggled, letting the rock do the honors. When the itch subsided, he righted himself and stared off the ledge. He'd gone for a long flight before his nap, visiting old haunts, remembering the heyday of his dragonish youth when Camelot hadn't even been a gleam in a young Bruta's eye, but a land of tribes and clans and ancient tales whispered over fires.

He wanted Balinor. He hadn't been able to form the words his enormous heart felt the need to speak to the dragonlord. Emptiness, loneliness, sadness were his current companions. He heaved a great big sigh and turned round, calling into the cave entrance. "Kitling!" He needed his bastet, the reminder of a light in the darkness to come. "Kitling. Come out."

Kilgharrah snaked his head through the opening, unable to enter with his body. No one in the main chamber. Side chamber? "Lady Freya." Nothing. Maybe she was with the dragon eggs. He closed his eyes, letting his senses stretch to his kin encased in hardy shells. They squirmed, agitated, alone. He let his magic calm them, but he stretched even farther. He opened his eyes. She was gone. No trace.

Kilgharrah panicked. _No. No. No._ He whirled round, leaped off the ledge, and soared. It couldn't be her that brought about this destiny, who weaved a fatal thread in the tapestry of history. _Let it not be her!_

Kilgharrah flew faster than he ever had. Tear ducts that had been dry for centuries leaked, blurring his sight. Must have been the cold wind of his flight stinging them.

* * *

Nimueh and Balinor met no one in the entrance hall. Nimueh shrugged this off; the complex was large, designed to hold crowds of initiates, mentors, and elders. "This would have been a good place to hide during the Purge," Balinor commented in a whisper.

"Haven't you wondered why Uther never found me?"

"I assumed you fled the kingdom."

Nimueh snorted. "I wouldn't give Uther the satisfaction of taking _everything_ from me."

Balinor nodded slowly. "Nor I." He thought of being forced away from Hunith and Merlin, leaving the woman he loved to raise their child alone. He'd meant to protect them, but his departure harmed them, too. He hadn't been the father he should have. He'd returned to Camelot; an irrational choice, really. But he'd clung to the only purpose left to him―protecting the legacy of the dragonlords. He'd determined to guard the Dragonlord Sanctuary, protect it from being discovered and destroyed, and had been overjoyed on his arrival to find two eggs ensconced on the pillars. Which dragonlord had saved them, he wasn't sure. Probably Petri, who always had a soft spot for youngling dragons.

Nimueh flattened against the wall. Balinor copied her. She had used her sight again he assumed when she whispered, "One of hers." Balinor unsheathed the sword at his waist. Nimueh turned the corner before he finished and he dashed after her. He only just saw her fling up a hand to a woman, more like a girl, sending her flying backwards and slamming into a wall. Nimueh stalked towards her, hand still raised to pin her. When she reached the girl, her other hand encircled the girl's throat. "Where is your mistress?"

The girl's wide brown eyes were fearful, but she shook her head. Balinor watched uncertainly.

"Tell me or I take what you know."

"Nimueh," Balinor entreated. He was ignored.

"Where is she?"

"I...don't know," the girl stammered.

Nimueh growled, her eyes glowed, and the girl squirmed.

"What are you doing?" Balinor demanded.

"Taking what she refuses to give."

"Are you in her mind?" Nimueh didn't reply. Balinor gripped her forearm. "Let her go." Nimueh's eyes glowed brighter. "Stop it! You'll destroy her!" he shouted, recalling warnings of the horrific results of violating someone's will.

The girl began to seize. Balinor placed the tip of his sword to Nimueh's neck. "Stop or I'll..." He never completed his threat. Nimueh released the girl who fell to the floor unconscious. The former high priestess slumped into the wall. Balinor went to his knees, a hand on the girl's neck. She lived. He scowled up at Nimueh. "Why did you do that? It wasn't necessary."

Nimeuh waved a dismissive hand and sucked in several long breaths.

"She'll need attention."

Nimueh shook her head.

Balinor rose. "I'm not like _you_. We'll take her to the cave and let Kilgharrah..."

"No time."

"Huh?"

"Morgause."

"What do you mean?"

Nimueh glanced at the debilitated girl, then back at him. "Morgause isn't here. She left for Camelot days ago. She's already there."

* * *

On his way back to Gaius' chamber, Merlin met Gwen carrying a breakfast plate containing mainly soft fare easier to feed Uther these days. Her bright smile lifted his morose mood. At least one thing had gone right. Morgana was home and Gwen was happier.

"Hey, Gwen," he greeted..

"Merlin. What are you doing out here in those, silly boy?" Gwen asked, eying his nightclothes.

Merlin grinned. She was even teasing him again. "Morning stroll."

"Go get decent before someone sees you," Gwen admonished.

"Gaius said the same," Merlin noted. "I'm going." The girl, basically a woman now he guessed, moved on, but he called after her. "Gwen?"

She turned back. "Hm?"

"Do you still love Arthur?"

Gwen's eyes dropped to the meal on the plate. "I can't love him."

"So you do."

"Please don't talk about this." She raised pleading eyes.

"He needs you. This acting as king and Uther's condition, it's too much." Maybe if Arthur had Gwen, her compassion and views would rub off on him, melt his coldness a little, and maybe, just maybe, Merlin could finally remove the burden clinging to his back.

Gwen's expression shifted, sympathy exuding from her. "He puts you off, I know. Doesn't spend time with you like he used to. I can mention it to him for you."

Merlin scratched at the top of his bed-ruffled head. "That's not exactly what I mean. I just..."

A scream pierced the air, harsh and sharp and pained. Both of their eyes shot down the hall to Uther's door. Without another word, they ran.

Merlin reached the door first. As he did, he heard a voice in his mind.

 _Punish him, Morgana. Destroy him for what he stole from us!_

Mordred? Speaking to Morgana? Merlin burst into the chambers followed by Gwen who cried out, "My lady!"

One of Morgana's hands dug into Uther's shoulder. The king writhed, but she held fast. Merlin rushed up to her and gasped at her blazing yellow eyes. She didn't take notice of him, just stared straight ahead as if seeing nothing...or everything.

"Stop!" Merlin shouted, grasping her arm. It was stiff and immobile. He pulled and pushed, then glanced at Gwen. "Get Gaius."

Gwen stared.

"Get Gaius now!"

Gwen nodded, dropping the plate on a side table and bolting back out the door.

"I'm sorry," Merlin uttered, then his own eyes glowed. His magic clashed with Morgana's but hers was no match. He broke her connection to Uther with one mighty burst. She tumbled backwards to the floor. Her eyes cleared and she gasped great breaths, wheezing.

Merlin didn't aid her up, too worried about Uther whose eyes were blank. "What did you do?" he shouted in anguish, jumping up onto the bed, putting his fingers to Uther's throat. Uther couldn't be dead. Not from Morgana's hand. Not from magic. Arthur would hate magic forever if it took his father as it had his mother. There it was, a pulse, but thready and failing.

Morgana grasped a bedpost, pulling herself up and staring at him leaning over Uther's form.

Merlin's eyes locked on hers. "Why?"

"I...had to know," she mumbled.

A soft, hissing breath left Uther's mouth, drawing Merlin's attention back. "This can't happen!" Merlin gripped Uther's shoulders. Throwing all caution to the wind, his eyes glimmered gold as he tried to bolster Uther enough to keep him alive until Gaius showed.

Morgana gasped. "You...you..."

Merlin replied without looking at her. "I have magic. Just like you." When she didn't reply, Merlin tilted his head to glance at her out the corner of one eye.

"You know about me?"

Merlin nodded.

"How?"

"I...thought your dreams were magic." Truth, if not the fullness of it. "Lancelot told me you dreamed about me when I went to Nimueh."

Morgana's gaze wandered to Uther. "He'd kill you."

"He isn't capable of it, if you hadn't noticed," Merlin pointed out sarcastically as he infused more of his magic into Uther, hoping this accomplished something. Morgana took a step towards the bed. "Don't touch him!"

She pulled back the hand she'd held out. "I didn't mean to..."

"Just stay back."

She scooted backwards until she fell into a chair. Her voice trembled. "Don't tell Arthur."

"That you have magic or you tried to kill Uther?" Merlin bit back.

"Merlin." Her tone begged.

"I haven't told him about _my_ magic, have I? Why would I ever tell him about yours?"

"And...this?"

"If I tell him what you did, then I have to tell him what I did. He'd never forgive either of us."

Morgana nodded, staring through glazed eyes as he tried desperately to keep Uther stable.

* * *

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Gaius, apprehensive since the elderly physician, who'd earned his respect as a child, had announced he'd been keeping something to himself that he apparently thought should have been disclosed before now.

Gaius' blue eyes about pierced him when he began, "I once loved a woman named Alice."

Arthur tilted his head and guffawed, then cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, but I didn't expect a conversation concerning your love life."

Gaius huffed a laugh. "I suppose not, but I ask for your patience anyway."

Arthur gestured at the door. "I have duties to attend to."

"I believe your duties will be best served by hearing me out."

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. "Then tell me what you feel I must know."

"Alice was a physician as myself. A great healer of men. Better than me in almost every way. She had a mind for experimentation and created many new remedies that saved innumerable lives. She even halted a plague killing our people and your father rewarded her handsomely for it. She was invaluable to Camelot."

Arthur crunched an eyebrow. "My father rewarded her?"

"Yes. She worked here in the castle. At my side."

"I don't remember her."

"You wouldn't. She fled not long after you were born."

"Why?"

Gaius paused and his eyes flamed intensely. "She would not deny magic."

Arthur unfolded his arms and straightened, immediately hating Gaius would bring up _this_ subject when he'd hoped to pass at least an hour or two without it invading his peace.

"Your father insisted all in his service cease looking to magic for aid."

Arthur nodded slowly. "I know this."

"You know I acquiesced to the king. Alice did not. She left and I remained." Gaius' eyes fell and Arthur noted a sorrow he rarely beheld in the man's countenance. He appeared even older. "The truth is, sire, I have regretted many times that I did not leave with her."

Arthur felt sudden understanding. "Are you telling me this because you mean to leave? My father needs you."

"No, my lord." Gaius lifted his chin. "I will tend your father until the day I die if you will let me. I am telling you this because I am guilty. I have never thought magic a certain step towards evil and I never will."

Arthur's stomach flipped uncomfortably. "This is dangerous territory, Gaius," he warned. _Don't go here._

"Yes, sire. Because your father made it so."

"Gaius," Arthur spoke more sternly.

"He was once a man with an infectious laugh, able to find joy in the midst of his struggles and partake of it. He'd been shaped by battle, but not irrevocably hardened. He loved deeply and well. You've never known what he was."

Arthur's chest had begun to ache. No, he never had. That thought had passed through his mind many times. "But then I was born."

"Then _Ygraine_ was taken from him," Gaius corrected. "Such a difficult loss that tore at his very soul. Sometimes when we hurt so much, we seek out ways to ease our pain and justify our loss."

Arthur whispered. "What are you saying?"

"Your father chose magic as his target."

"Magic had done much evil," Arthur returned a little too strongly.

"Yes, sire." Arthur raised his brows, surprised by the admission. "But it had not only done evil. Alice saved hundreds of lives. She did not descend into evil. _I_ have not descended into evil. It was Uther's heart that grew dark, but you need not do so."

Arthur swallowed thickly. "I think this is enough. Speak no more." He made to move to the door, but Gaius caught him fast by the arm.

"You cannot avoid this forever, Arthur. Magic exists in your kingdom and many who practice it are innocent. Those who use it for evil come against your father because they darkened in heart, too, as Uther prolonged his war against them. There are things you must know. Things you must hear from the innocent your father has caused to suffer. Untie the hands of those who could use what they know for your good if would but open the door to them."

Arthur wriggled out of Gaius' grasp, but as he did, all the conflicted thoughts brought about as a result of his readings on magic's good in Camelot rushed back to him. He himself had been witness to good: to Merlin's mother defending villagers, to Nimueh defeating Aredian to save Merlin, then later leaving Agravaine to his judgment. To a camp of Druids kneeling in front of him about to be slaughtered, people who had done nothing but exist. To his own birth, for heaven's sake! "The council needs me," he blurted out.

"Arthur..."

The door slammed open. Gwen entered, chest heaving. "Arthur! Your father. He's dying."

* * *

Morgana sat stock still, bitingly cold, shivering, watching a nightmare come alive, Nimueh's words echoing in the chambers of her mind⸻ _You have the mind of a high priestess and the heart of a Pendragon._ Her mother, Vivienne, seer and student of the high priestesses. Her father, who _had_ to be Gorlois, the man who had loved her, cradled her, called her his little girl and cherished one. _Heart of a Pendragon._ _Morgana Pendragon._ Not Uther. Couldn't be Uther.

Merlin was murmuring from the bed. "Please, please. Don't die. Come on."

 _You cannot run from who you are. You are the beginning of a new day and Uther's doom._ Uther was dying in front of her, Nimueh's prediction come to fruition.

"Father!" Arthur appeared, rushing into the room. Morgana followed him with her eyes alone. She didn't register the presence near her until Gwen shifted on her feet, one hand clutched to her neck looking at her with...fear? Did she know she'd hurt Uther?

Morgana looked back at the bed. Merlin had ceased his magical tending, Arthur pushing him out of the way to clutch at Uther himself. Gaius entered. Merlin met him at the door, murmuring to him. Gaius glanced at Morgana, then Uther. He'd told him. He must have. Gaius moved to the bed.

"Let me see him, my lord."

Arthur backed away, tears already spilling out. Her brother, as she'd thought, in all but blood, but he was half-brother. _True_ brother. He looked at her and she remembered the vision in the crystal cave, Arthur clutching at her during his vigil over Uther's body, and her guilty expression.

"Arthur...I'm..." She couldn't get the words out. He moved over to her, leaning over to hold her.

"Gaius will save him. He will."

 _Die, I beg you, and take your secrets with you!_ Morgana startled at her own thoughts directed to Uther as Arthur released her and turned back to the bed.

"Gaius, how is he?"

Gaius, who had been leaning over and listening to Uther' chest, straightened. "His heart is weakened. I will need to mix a medicine to stabilize him."

"Then do it."

"My lord, I must warn you, the chances are slim. Those in this weakened condition, they hardly ever survive."

Uther would die. Slip into the realm of spirits to be judged accordingly and trouble her no more.

"My lady, come with me to your room." Gwen's voice, tentative, yet gentle even though she probably knew about the act of treason. Faithful, good Gwen that she didn't deserve.

"I'll stay here."

"Morgana."

"I'm staying."

Gwen crouched next to her chair and met her eye to eye. "It is best you leave here. Protect yourself."

Morgana's gaze followed Merlin moving to Gaius' side. The physician was listing ingredients and supplies to bring back to the room. For the first time she realized Merlin wore his nightclothes and was barefoot.

"Father." Arthur choked on a sob.

 _Father,_ Morgana echoed, staring at Uther, _I hate you._

Warning bells began to peal.


	79. Shattered

Freya circled above Camelot, darting in and out of low lying clouds. She'd left the Sanctuary when Kilgharrah fell asleep, determined to tell Merlin what she'd overheard about the possible danger, but as Camelot appeared on the horizon, it occurred to her she hadn't any idea _how_ to warn him. She'd not returned to Camelot in the daytime since her escape. They'd only met at night when she chirped their agreed upon signal to notify Merlin she awaited his presence on the tower roof.

Freya growled deep within her chest. She shouldn't have traveled until night, but Kilgharrah's nap afforded her a perfect opportunity to sneak away. Now she didn't dare wait for a candle to light Merlin's bedroom window; Kilgharrah would surely come after her when he realized she was gone. She'd about made up her mind to simply risk hovering at the window―she _might_ fit through―when a muted voice buzzed in her head.

 _Punish him, Morgana. Destroy him for what he stole from us._

Mordred? She knew her friend could speak with his mind, but she'd always needed to concentrate very hard to hear him tell her things. Her magic had never been strong except for the bastet. If she could hear him, he must be screaming inside.

She narrowed almond shaped eyes. The beast's vision was far more effective than her human sight, even in daylight. She banked lower in the direction Mordred's voice had emanated from, dipping beneath the clouds, and spied the figure of a youth huddled against one of the citadel's outer walls. She sped swiftly downwards, landing too sharply to prevent rolling several meters. When she regained her footing, Morded was staring at her with wide eyes.

"Freya?"

Her rounded eyes reflected his as she digested a shock of her own. Her bastet form melted away. "You can talk."

"Freya," Mordred repeated, jumping up from the wall. "Why are you here?"

"You can _talk_ ," she repeated.

"I always _could_ , I just didn't."

"Why?"

Mordred ruffled his chestnut locks. "I don't know."

Freya raised her eyebrows, her expression reminiscent of a mother doubting a naughty child. "I've always known when you tried to lie to me."

"It just...doesn't matter," Mordred defended, cheeks flushing. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard your voice. You said something about punishing someone. Who?" Was this what Kilgharrah had seen? Morded had always been prone to anger since she'd known him, but would he channel that wrath into something wicked?

Mordred suddenly rushed her and grasped her hands. "Uther Pendragon. He's paying for what he did to you and me and everyone."

"W-hat?" Freya stammered, taken aback that her suspicions were well founded.

"And someone's coming. She will make us free. The king and his son won't hurt anyone ever again."

"His son?" Freya backed up a step, pulling her hands out of Mordred's grip. "Prince Arthur?"

Mordred nodded. "A new ruler will sit on the throne and _she_ will make everything right."

"Prince Arthur can't die!" Freya objected frantically. Mordred's brow creased in confusion. "He _saved_ you."

"Because Morgana made him," the youth scoffed, face clouding.

"That's not true, he―"

"Kills Druids just like the king! You think he would not kill you?"

Freya wasn't sure what Prince Arthur would do. He hadn't prevented her going to the stake, but Merlin trusted him, believed he could change, and she trusted Merlin. "Merlin thinks he's changing."

"Merlin," Mordred echoed and laughed. " _Emrys_. Our savior who does nothing to aid us, following the prince like a dog."

"He's not like that," Freya spat out. "He's trying to help us."

"Well, he's failed."

"He hasn't, he―"

"Why are you defending him? Because he got you away from here? What about everyone else? Shouldn't they be rescued, too?"

"Things will change, Mordred. I believe it. Please tell me who's coming. Who is going to kill the prince?"

Mordred stepped away from her, his visage dark and foreboding. "You're on Emrys' side. You'll try to stop it."

"You can't be all right with murder!"

"It's justice!"

"Mordred―"

"Get away from me."

"You have to tell me!"

"Emrys will pay for this."

"What are you talking about?" Freya demanded, fearful of his vengeful tone.

"He corrupted you."

"Stop this right now," Freya ordered. "Merlin showed me who I am. He freed me."

"And bought your loyalty."

Exasperated, Freya leaped to Mordred's side and grabbed his arm, transforming.

"What are you doing?" Mordred cried out.

In seconds, she was bastet once more. She bit into Mordred's collar and clasped him into her breast with her large paws.

"Freya!"

Warning bells began to peal as she took to the air.

* * *

The ease with which Morgause found the siege tunnels and navigated them surprised even her. She hadn't been entirely certain about the information she'd received from Gorlois' shade until this moment. She'd been afraid the shade might manifest faithfulness to Camelot even after the manner of his death, though his responses to her questions had been immediate and dispassionate.

Emerging from the last tunnel onto a grassy patch within the citadel walls, Morgause commanded the Knights of Medhir to take the lead into the courtyard. Clanging bells warned they'd been seen, but she'd expected and prepared for such a circumstance. Most of the knights engaged the few bold guards that recovered from the stupor of beholding enemies already within their walls while two made for the entrance to bring down the portcullis. Morgause halted in the center of the pitched stone square. She lifted her hands, opened her mouth, and chanted the most powerful spell of her entire life.

* * *

Arthur responded immediately to the sounding of the warning bells, marching towards the chamber doors. Merlin dashed across the room to join him. The prince had just gripped the door handle when a wave of heaviness slammed into the room. Gwen went down first in reaction, instantly limp. Morgana barely managed to rise from her seat to catch her as she sagged forwards.

"Gwen! Gwen?" she called as she lowered the unconscious girl to the floor.

Arthur turned at Morgana's distressed cry, fear crossing his face to see the maid he still loved toppling over. Merlin would have followed his master towards Gwen, but a loud thump drew his attention. Gaius had crumpled to the floor, back to the bed, slumped over like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Arthur reached Gwen, then awkwardly buckled to his knees with a groan.

Merlin took a redirected step towards Arthur, but faltered when electric energy flared within, surging through his veins and prickling outward along his skin. His head buzzed for a moment and he dizzily rocked back and forth before catching his balance.

"Arthur," Morgana spoke with concern.

Merlin stumbled to the prince, now flopping backwards on his way to the floor. He slid to his knees and caught Arthur's shoulders from behind. "Arthur." He shook the prince but received no response and shuddered under the muscular man's dead weight. He laid him face up on the floor as gently as he could, then touched fingers to his neck. A strong pulse. A snuffle huffed from the prince's nose and Merlin stared in surprise. Arthur sometimes made that noise when sleeping deeply. He looked over at Morgana. "Gwen?"

"She's alive," Morgana confirmed.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

"How should I know?"

"You tried to kill Uther."

"That doesn't mean I did this," Morgana defended, brow creasing angrily.

Merlin stared at her, eyes wide, and she stared back, her round about admission hitting them both.

"I...didn't intend to hurt him," she muttered.

Merlin pulled an agitated hand through his hair. "If you didn't do this to them, who did?" Morgana looked away and Merlin abruptly lashed out, grasping her wrist so she jerked her head back to him. "You know."

Morgana slapped at his hand, forcing him to release her. "How long have you had magic?"

Merlin blinked at the change in subject. "A long time."

"Why did you never tell me?" Her face bore recrimination. "You knew about _me_."

"You want to talk about this _now_?" Merlin shot at her, gesturing at Arthur and Gwen.

"I just...wish I'd known."

Merlin lowered his eyes to Gwen. "People who know about me just get hurt."

"Merlin." Morgana reached out to him, grasping his hand. "That's not true."

"You don't understand," he whispered. The warning bells, which had been a constant refrain, ceased. Merlin fixed pleading eyes on Morgana. " _Who_ is doing this?"

Morgana let him go, her gaze pained. "I suspect...Morgause."

"The sorceress who took you," Merlin clarified.

She nodded. "She hates the king. The Pendragons. She wants them dead."

Merlin scowled. "And you didn't think to warn Arthur?"

"I didn't know she'd come now and do _this_."

Merlin's heart had sunk even though it had been obvious a wielder of magic was behind the happenings. Dark magic. Again. Didn't any of the Pendragons' enemies understand that attacking them only made the royals hate magic more? _Hate_ me _more_ , he grumbled internally

A clattering in the hall raised the alarm of approaching armored bodies. Merlin leaped to his feet and turned, raising his hand. Morgana stepped to his side, holding out her own.

"You can fight?" he asked.

"I've been taught some things," she admitted. The door opened.

Merlin hardly took in the four knights framed in the doorway, black as death, faces covered in blank masks, before he conjured a mighty burst of power that should have sent them toppling. He gaped when they resisted, rooted to the spot like trees a hundred years old. Morgana's hand flamed with a ball of fire that she shot at them, hitting one square in the chest but not altering their forward strides.

Morgana shouted, swiftly reaching down to unsheath Arthur's sword, then shoving Merlin out of the way to confront the knights. She dove forward and slashed. Merlin tried another spell, launching an electric bolt, but the knight caught in the blast weathered it without effect.

Morgana's blade clashed with a knight's sword, but when the knight's sliced through hers like butter, cutting it off at the hilt, she was struck dumb. The knight gripped her round the waist and she pounded at his armor with her fists, the only defense left to her. The knight dragged her out the door.

Merlin, likewise without any other recourse, flung himself at the remaining knights, trying to recall Arthur's lessons in hand to hand combat, but three on one were unlikely odds made even worse with knights like these. His knuckles cracked as if punching solid stone and he cried out, but was silenced when a fist crunched into his face. His head drooped as he fell into a daze and he lost his footing. He might have gone down if a pair of unyielding hands hadn't grabbed him under the arms. Liquid seeped from his nose and over his lips and chin. Through a haze, he saw both Uther and Arthur being tossed over the shoulders of the last two knights with ease as if they weighed not a pound.

* * *

Nothing Morgana did stopped the progress of the knight propelling her through the citadel. She kicked, hit, and shoved, but the knight never yielded. Her heart went cold when they reached the entrance steps and she was hauled into the light of the courtyard. Although she had been certain who had initiated the attack, her stomach still churned when she sighted Morgause kneeling in the courtyard's center, her eyes burning yellow, surrounded by three more dark knights. Morgause...her sister after all? The knight directed her to the witch and held her in front of her.

Morgause looked up, feral eyes ablaze. "You know the truth. You know Uther Pendragon tortured your father to death, and you know _who_ he is."

Morgana blinked back sudden moisture obscuring her vision. "You knew Uther was my..." She couldn't bring herself to utter the appellation aloud. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You didn't believe when I claimed the truth about Gorlois. You had to see for yourself. Do you believe now?"

Morgana closed her eyes briefly. How could she not believe? Uther had given her the truth in words and images that replayed in quick succession through her mind, seared into her memory. Part of the curse of the seer that she could recall it so clearly?

"Uther Pendragon must pay for all he has done to me and _you_." Morgause's gaze had moved behind her and Morgana turned, peering around the knight to see the three others that had invaded Uther's chambers bringing Merlin, blood streaming from his nose, and Arthur and Uther, still unconscious, slung over their shoulders.

Her gaze snapped back to Morgause. "Stop this!"

Morgause waved a hand and the knight pulled Morgana to stand beside the sorceress. The three knights dropped their burdens in front of Morgause. Merlin moaned and curled in on himself. Morgana tried to get to him, pulling away from the knight, but he held fast.

"That boy," Morgause spoke, tilting her head at Merlin. "He's awake?"

The knight guarding him nodded.

"How?" the witch murmured to herself. She looked at Morgana. "Who is he?"

Morgana swallowed thickly. She wouldn't make Merlin a target. "Just a servant."

"Hm," Morgause intoned. "Or maybe he is more than you think he is. There must be something latent in him, perhaps magic in his ancestry?"

"I've never seen him do anything of the sort."

"But then, he would hide it, wouldn't he? Or he may not know. Never mind. Other matters are pressing. We will puzzle him out later. He may be of use." She took a deep breath and chanted lowly. " _Wecap aet pone gewitt_." Uther and Arthur stirred, coming slowly awake. "Behold your father, Morgana."

Morgana's unwilling gaze alighted on the man she didn't feel she knew anymore. The man she had almost killed in a rage. She'd once loved him.

"He let my father die," Morgause continued. "He tortured Gorlois to death. He lay with a woman not his wife and denied the child she bore." Morgana's heart skipped a beat to hear the truth spoken so blatantly. "He murdered the high priestesses, Druids, children, innocents. Nothing less than death and hell does he deserve. Can you deny this?"

Morgana's breath stuck in her throat.

"Can you?" Morgause pressed.

"No," she whispered.

Uther's gaze had been roaming, but now found the witch in front of him, though he didn't speak. Morgana wasn't sure he even understood what was happening. He'd already been previously incapacitated and her own attack had weakened him almost to death.

But Arthur's eyes were cognizant when they focused. He rose to his knees, though the knight behind him held his arms twisted behind his back. Confused, he scanned the courtyard strewn with the bodies of guards and knights. His eyes flicked to Merlin, then her, and finally landed on Morgause.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

Morgause smirked. "Your executioner."

* * *

The hackles on Arthur's neck prickled in fear. He'd awoken to find himself in his worst nightmare―his men defeated and his friends and family at the mercy of a sorceress whose glowing eyes skewered him like a flaming sword. When she declared his doom, his gaze flickered back to Morgana and then Merlin.

"Let them go," he found his voice, looking back to the witch. "The Lady Morgana and my servant have done nothing."

"So, then," the woman smiled. "You admit you _have_ done something."

Arthur scowled. "I didn't say that."

The sorceress cocked her head. "But your eyes...bear shame."

Arthur's scowl deepened, fighting the words that brought up memories of his sword drenched in Druid blood. "Let them go," he repeated.

"I'm not King Uther. I don't kill innocents."

"Morgause!" Morgana cried out, slipping to her knees next to the witch and grasping her arm. "Not Arthur. Please."

Arthur's stomach flipped. Morgause. The sorceress who had kidnapped Morgana five months ago.

"The heir is as guilty as his father," the sorceress spat out.

"He isn't. He―"

"Has arrested sorcerers. Watched their executions. Raided Druid camps."

"Yes, but―"

"Who would you choose, Morgana?" The witch's tone had gone hard. "Uther's conjured heir or your sister?"

Her sister? This woman was Morgana's sister?

"Don't do this," Morgana whispered. "I don't want this."

The witch reached out a hand and tenderly ran her fingers along Morgana's cheek. "I was eight years old when our mother brought you to the Isle of the Blessed, and oh, how beautiful you were. All these years, I have wanted you at my side, the daughters of Vivienne, united as one." She grasped Morgana's hand. "We will reign when _you_ take the throne."

"This was your plan all along," Morgana breathed out.

Morgause gestured to the knight behind Arthur. He struggled against the solid grip as he was pushed forward to lean over the cobbles. His father was similarly positioned and Arthur recognized their necks had been prepared for execution. His heart pummeled and his mind reeled. Two other knights drew swords and stood next to them, ready to inflict the final blows.

"Wait!" a hoarse voice called out into the horrified silence. "Leave them alone."

* * *

Merlin had slowly returned to the land of the living. He rubbed at his nose and chin, sticky blood clinging to his fingers. People were speaking, and he became aware of Arthur and Uther nearby, also Morgana and a woman with glowing eyes who must be Morgause. Magic was streaming off the last like a raging river. He'd never felt such raw power. Morgana begged the woman not to kill Arthur, and then Arthur and his father were bent over and swords held aloft above them. Merlin struggled to his knees and elbows and crawled forward.

"Wait. Leave them alone."

The knight who had been guarding him planted a heavy boot into his back and Merlin groaned as he was crushed into the cobblestones, the breath squeezed from his lungs.

"Morgause!" Morgana shouted.

"Let him up," the witch commanded. "But guard him."

The boot lifted from Merlin's back. He was sure it left an imprint behind. As he pushed to his knees to meet the witch's gaze, he felt the prick of the knight's blade between his shoulders. "Y-you can't...kill them."

Morgause laughed. "Such loyalty. Do you not understand, boy, who you serve?"

"A-Arthur. He's not who you think he is."

"No? Your prince hasn't wielded his sword against magic? Hasn't demonstrated his hate on those who have done him no harm?"

"Merlin," Arthur's broken voice came from behind, laced with choked back tears. "Don't speak for me."

A warning, Merlin knew, born of Arthur's fear they'd kill his servant boy, too.

"He's not who he was," Merlin insisted, shaking with an involuntary sob.

"Oh, naive child," Morgause spoke quietly. "Your plea is pure, but cannot wash away the blood on Pendragon hands." She looked to her knights. "Kill them."

"No!" Merlin screamed, ducking forwards to avoid being speared by the knight's sword at his back and scrambling to his feet to throw himself at Arthur.

"Don't!" Morgana cried.

The knight swinging his sword at Arthur halted at the last second when Merlin grasped his prince around the neck, shielding him with his body. The sword descending on Uther Pendragon found its mark, but not before an unearthly yowl echoed off the courtyard walls.

* * *

Morgause had screamed as her plan went awry. A beast born of myth had appeared, landing in the courtyard and dropping what she carried―Emrys. Morgause had at first been bolstered. Emrys had come. He would unleash his might and no one would stand against her. But Emrys blinked blearily at the group, caught in the sleeping spell's grip. Annoyance flashed through her mind. Emrys should have been strong enough to resist her spell. Then she smirked. Perhaps she was greater even than the legendary Emrys.

Her proud visage faltered when the sleek furred beast lunged at the knight executing the king. His sword had just made contact when enormous jaws ripped his arm from the shoulder. The knight collapsed in a sudden puff of dust. Uther pitched over, the back of his neck bleeding freely, but his head securely attached to his shoulders. The other knight meant to execute the prince had hesitated when the servant boy covered the heir with his body. Having stopped the death, the boy whirled, knocking the sword from the knight's hand. The knights holding the king and prince had withdrawn, backing away several paces and drawing swords to defend themselves.

"Kill them all!" Morgause shrieked.

* * *

The moment Arthur found himself free, he leaped to his father, dragging him under his armpits away from the chaos. He pressed his hand into the bloody wound at the back of his neck, attempting to stem the flow. Glancing up, he beheld the bastet that had once transformed in Camelot's cells rushing two nights that swept at it with their swords. It ripped at the shoulder of one, teeth crushing through armor and eliciting another shower of dust, but the other knight had thrust outward at the same time, taking the beast in the side. The bastet broke off, howling in pain and staggering backwards.

"Freya!" Merlin cried. His scribe had somehow gotten ahold of one of the knight's swords and had been swinging it around threateningly. Every knight he lashed at gave him a wide berth, including the one who had wounded the beast as Merlin rushed to the bastet's side.

Freya... Merlin _knew_ it. Two and two careened together in Arthur's mind. The girl to be executed disappeared. Merlin's insistence she shouldn't die. Her escape. His scribe had set her free. Merlin had deceived him.

"Morded," someone else cried. Morgana had stumbled another direction, cradling a boy Arthur thought he'd never see again, one he'd handed over to Druids and some days regretted having done so.

"Arthur."

He glanced down at his father, tilting his head back, cradling him in his arms. "Father."

"I...I...failed you."

"No, you haven't. You haven't," Arthur insisted, eyes welling with tears. Footsteps pounded the pavement. Three knights descended on them. Arthur let go his father to jump in front of him and brandished his fists.

* * *

Merlin crouched next to Freya, assessing her wounded side, but keeping his sword directed at the knights hesitating to attack them. "Freya," he wailed. "No. No."

The bastet's yellow eyes glazed and its form shook as the girl emerged from the beast. "Merlin." She clutched at her seeping side and scrambled to her feet. Merlin held her arm to keep her upright as her eyes roved the courtyard, and she suddenly shouted, pointing at Morgana kneeling next to Mordred.

"It's the ward...ward of Uther. Her blood...her blood...makes them...the Knights...come alive." She tumbled forwards. Merlin caught her with one arm.

* * *

Morgana stood up from Mordred, who swayed as she let him go, shocked to recognize the girl that had almost been executed months ago pointing at her and declaring her the source of the knights' power. Make them come alive? Had they been dead before?

Arthur was standing in front of Uther, fists raised at knights coming towards him, but looking as shocked as she. Their eyes met and the betrayal there pierced her heart.

Her gaze shifted to Morgause who hadn't moved as chaos erupted around her, still maintaining the spell, but she was shaking now, the strain wearing on her.

"My blood?" Morgana accused, remembering a knife drawn across her arm and Morgause's hand squeezing muscle so blood dribbled into a bowl. Not all had been used up in the creation of the charm.

"You inherited the seer's blood of our mother," Morgause spoke proudly. "You made the way for justice." The witch's gleaming eyes turned to the knights having reached Arthur who fought skillfully, but in seconds was pinned to the ground next to Uther whose blood pooled under his head.

Merlin lay the girl on the ground and would have run towards Arthur if two other knights hadn't given up their wariness, blocking his way.

Morgana stopped thinking. In one swift motion she crouched down to draw the knife Mordred sported from his belt, stood back up, locked her eyes on Morgause's, laid the knife to her wrist, and sliced through.


	80. And Found Wanting

**Author's Note:** Warning: HUGE chapter ahead! Didn't want to cut anything and wanted to get to long-awaited events. Now, everything changes.

* * *

Balinor trudged through the crowded streets of Camelot's lower town. Frantic chatter surrounded him and the companion hanging on his arm, worries over warning bells sounded then gone suddenly silent. Some argued the incident a false alarm, but most grew hot with anxiety, complaining that the knights assigned to report to them after the bells hadn't arrived yet.

"What do you think it means?" he whispered to the woman he supported, hooded as he to conceal identity and avoid questions.

"She's there," Nimueh answered in a hushed voice. "We must get to the citadel."

"If you hadn't insisted we stop at that hovel of yours..."

"Why come unprepared? We don't know what she's doing or what it might take to stop her."

Balinor sighed. "And this whirlwind..."

"A dangerous trick. Always has been."

"You about killed us this time." He rotated the arm not clasped by the former high priestess, still aching, sure it would sport a large bruise.

"We arrived here, did we not?"

"Wouldn't have mattered if we'd been split in two by tree trunks," Balinor murmured.

"Well you needn't worry anymore. That may have been the last time I could manage such a thing." The woman could hardly put one foot in front of the other. Balinor wasn't sure she'd have the strength to face Morgause even if they made it to their destination.

The closer they came to the castle, the more agitated Camelot's subjects grew, speculating all kinds of dangers unleashed in their city. Some had even armed themselves for good measure. Finally, they sighted the entrance gate. It was closed and the portcullis was down. A group of knights and guards stood outside, mingling and speaking rapidly to one another, though seeming completely out of their depth.

"Lancelot!" one called out. A man ran up to join them, and though he wasn't suited in armor, the others listened to his report with a sense of deference. Balinor recognized him even through the beard as the knight who had come looking for Merlin when he'd taken him. Merlin had insisted he was a good man, not owned by the king, but his own conviction.

"It's the same all around. No way in."

They shook their heads and Lancelot squeezed the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles went white. Balinor pulled the hood of his cloak farther forward to conceal his appearance and pushed through the crowd gathered at the gate to speak to the man. "What's going on?" he inquired, head down as if in respect to avoid the knight seeing his face.

"I wish we knew," Lancelot answered with a drawn brow.

"Get back with the others. We'll handle this," a knight interrupted, pushing Balinor into the crowd.

"It's magic," someone cried.

"It's not magic!" the knight called out, though the disquiet on his face indicated he was more dubious than he asserted. Probably didn't want hysteria on his hands.

Nimueh tugged at Balinor, directing him several meters away down the citadel's outer wall. "I can feel a great power. I don't understand how she could manifest such domination. It's not right."

"Why?"

"It's something darker than I have felt before." She flattened her palm towards the wall but didn't touch it. "A spell. Around the whole castle. Affecting only those within it."

"Is Merlin inside?"

"I don't know."

"Can we get through it?"

"I can only try."

Balinor paced, his stomach writhing in knots. Minutes passed, and Nimueh hadn't managed to do much more than give up using one hand and try two, chanting all kinds of spells. Even the enchanted necklace and bracelets she'd adorned to increase her abilities didn't seem to be helping.

 _Too late! Too late!_

Balinor froze. _Kilgharrah?_

 _Do not enter, dragonlord! And do not prevent what must be!_

"Dragon!" a shout came from the crowd at the gates. "Dragon!"

* * *

Horror banished triumph in Morgause's expression when Morgana slit her wrist and the Knights of Medhir momentarily broke off their attacks. Her sister slumped to her knees next to Emrys, gazing on the blood seeping from her arm, yet still had the fortitude to continue her upward slash, marking her arm in a red gash. "Morgana! No!" she shrieked. She had never considered her sister to be so foolish! What if she did more? What if she ended it all?

As if echoing her line of thought, Morgana swiveled the knife to her throat.

Morgause tried to struggle to her feet, but maintaining the dark spell was taking its toll. She'd been warned it would utterly drain her. In minutes, she might not be able to save the person she loved more than any in the world, a young woman whose visage bore the mirror image of the mother she'd never ceased mourning. Giving up standing, she crawled. She hadn't reached her by the time her sister began to slide the knife along her throat.

"Stop!" she commanded. Morgana's hand stalled, shaking. Her eyes watered. What could she possibly be thinking? "Please, sister."

"I have to," Morgana gasped.

Morgause crawled faster, but not before Morgana swiped at her neck. Morgause screamed and finally reached her, plucking the knife away and casting it aside. Morgana swooned and she caught her to her breast, tears springing in her eyes. Morgana's neck bled, but the cut didn't seem deep. Fear, perhaps, had kept her from a fatal wound.

"Why?" Morgause mumbled into her black tresses so like their mother's.

"What...would _you_ choose, sister?" Morgana stammered. "Uther...or me?"

She cursed inwardly at fate making her its plaything once again. She'd lost her mother, her mentors, her friends. Uther had to pay. _Must_ pay. But would she abandon her sister to achieve justice?

"Mor-gana?" a voice nearby stuttered.

Morgause glanced at the boy next to Morgana blinking blearily. "You are Emrys! Do something!"

He reached out to touch Morgana's ankle next to him. " _Þurhhæle dolgbenn._ "

Morgana shuddered and her eyes fluttered shut.

"It's not working! You are useless!" Morgause pressed a hand into Morgana's chest, chanting a spell. Morgana's wounds remained. "I wasn't trained as a healer," the sorceress lamented.

"Ch-oose," Morgana mumbled.

Tears dripped down Morgause's cheeks. Yellow faded from her eyes replaced by a subtle gold. "I choose you. Sister, I choose you." She chanted the spell again.

* * *

"Morgana!" Merlin had cried the moment she slashed at her wrist, Morgause's cry echoing his. The ward followed her first cut with a long one vertically up her arm and swayed precariously. When the knights did the same, Merlin knew Freya had been right. They _were_ tied to Morgana, dependent on her for their animation.

Merlin leaped forward, slashing at the knights that had stumbled back a couple paces at Morgana's action. One raised his blade just in time to clash it against Merlin's. Merlin firmed his jaw; his visage darkened. Arthur had taught him all he knew, and he wouldn't let anyone show him up or prevent him from getting to his prince. He thrust outwards with a mighty blow and the knight barely blocked. The other knight had recovered from his faint as well and his sword arced towards Merlin's neck. The youth ducked under the blade, spun and thrust out. He gasped when the sword met the armored chest-plate and pierced right through. He careened into the knight, not expecting the ease of the blow and both went down. He just managed to roll away and avoid the second knight's jab at his side.

He leaped to his feet and backed away, assessing the wounded knight still on the cobbles, dust seeping from around the sword buried in his chest. He glimpsed Arthur out of the corner of his eye, on his feet facing three knights. He must have also taken advantage of their momentary weakness when Morgana had cut herself. "Arthur! Their swords can defeat them!"

The prince didn't look at him but nodded succinctly. Merlin's still standing foe advanced on him and the youth took off, sprinting towards Arthur, a short gleam in his eyes increasing his speed. As he ran, he glanced over at Morgana, horrified to see Morgause had gone to the ward and held her lifeless form in her arms. No. Morgana couldn't have killed herself. No!

Arthur leaped and kicked out, taking one knight in the chest who promptly pitched over to the cobbles. Arthur grasped his wrist, twisting it back, fighting for the sword within his grip. It might have been all for naught when the other two knights targeted the prince, but someone else threw his own blade into the mix, a Camelot guard, awake, though wavering as if drunk.

Merlin slowed his approach, checking himself. The heaviness was gone and the electric pulse. Morgause had ceased the spell. Other guards, and knights distinctive in their red capes, were coming to in the courtyard, rising and assessing the scene.

The guard that had attacked to protect his prince was thrown back in surprise when his weapon bounced off a masked knight, but it was enough time for Arthur to force the sword out of his enemy's grip. He rose and plunged the sword through the knight's armor. Dust exploded outwards, catching Arthur in its blast.

The two remaining masked knights retreated to regroup with their final and third companion. Surely they could defeat three, Merlin thought as he reached Arthur, covered in powdery gray, though he must have closed his eyes because his gaze was clear. He grabbed Merlin's arm and threw him behind him. "Stay behind me!"

"No, I―" Merlin protested, moving to his side, but Arthur turned on him.

"You have no blade! Get back!" He wheeled around and stalked towards the last three knights, the guard stumbling after him. Merlin wasn't about to leave Arthur to his own fate and followed after.

Before they could reach the knights standing back to back, swords raised, the ground rocked with the force of a mighty earthquake. Everyone lost their balance, even the masked knights who had seemed solid as oaks when Merlin first attacked them with magic. A roar filled the courtyard, bouncing off every surface and causing most everyone to squint and grimace at the strength of the sound. Merlin fell into Arthur, who pushed him back and turned to steady him.

Merlin gaped. "Kilgharrah?"

The golden dragon on the other side of the courtyard glittered in the bright sun and his yellow eyes burned with a ferocity Merlin had never beheld. He stood over Freya's unconscious form like a faithful guard dog. Arthur's voice sounded at his shoulder, small and shocked.

"You know _it_ , too?"

He glanced at Arthur, who had whirled around to lift his sword in Kilgharrah's direction and wasn't looking at him. "Eh..."

"The truth."

"Yeah."

"Uther Pendragon!" the dragon addressed the king. Hot glowing breath escaped his mouth, twisting a path to Uther. Arthur made to run, but Merlin gripped his arm.

"Arthur, don't! He'll help!"

"Let me go!"

"No!"

Arthur spun around, elbowing Merlin in the jaw. Merlin staggered back and Arthur ran.

* * *

Uther had been observing the scene unfolding in his castle as if from a far distance away. None of it felt quite real, more like a dream, another nightmare. He had suffered so many in his hours of oblivion, it didn't shock him nor move him.

He heard again the voices of his best friend and wife, murmuring in his ear his crimes. He'd felt a sharp sting on his neck, seen Arthur briefly, and then been left alone, or not so alone. As the nightmare unfolded, ethereal figures seeped upwards from the courtyard floor, ghostly phantoms that uttered not a word, but stared at him as if come to witness a solemn event. His chest ached. He could barely breathe. Who were these watching him so?

He strained to look at them as the ground shook underneath his body. Some seemed familiar. They were variously dressed, indicating nobles and peasants, high priestesses and Druids, soldiers and bandits. There were children, too. Some smiled, but most bore no expression at all.

"Uther Pendragon!" a booming voice called. His spectators faded, almost unseen, and Uther blinked at senses returning. He sat up, but cried aloud and clutched as his chest.

"Back, dragon!" he heard Arthur shout.

Arthur stood in front of the Great Dragon, the last dragon, the one he'd imprisoned all those years ago and...not dead after all? Arthur lashed out with his sword, and the dragon swung a massive paw that knocked his son over in one blow.

"Don't...harm 'im," Uther stammered, his speech slow and slurred. He struggled to his feet, lurching across the courtyard to his son. He knelt next to Arthur, moaning, but still cognizant, looking up at him. "P-lease," Uther begged, staring up at the dragon, haunted by memories of a time long ago when he had tricked the last dragonlord and chained the beast in a cavern. "Don't...kill 'im...to 'venge yourself...on me."

"I have no intention of harming the golden prince," the dragon replied, its voice unexpectedly softened, "for he is a better man than you and will be better still."

Bewilderment and disbelief overtook Uther's features.

"How much you thought you understood, but you have been a fool. This kingdom would have been spared much suffering if you hadn't let fear and wrath cloud your vision."

A sharp pain radiated in Uther's chest and he gasped, clutching at his breast. His eyes dimmed. A new flickering specter formed in front of him―a Druid woman Uther knew far too well, whose last words droned in his ears every day. _You have been weighted, Uther Pendragon, and found wanting. Your doom is foretold. When the last dragon has met its end, so will come the end of your reign!_

"The time has come," the dragon announced.

The masked knights that had been focused on Merlin and Arthur had regained their own feet and redirected their attention to Kilgharrah. The dragon spewed fire in their direction. They didn't even scream, but when the flame ceased, two had vanished, burnt to ashes in seconds. One, however, had ducked and backed away, avoiding the onslaught. He flung his sword with a strength triple that of the mightiest knight, the blade shooting through the air like a bolt from a crossbow. Aghast, Uther watched as the dragon didn't move, didn't dodge, didn't even chant a spell. The sword pierced its breast, on the right-hand side, exactly where a dragon's heart resided.

Someone screamed. The dragon roared. Uther wailed.

"Father?" Arthur had sat up and clung to him.

Uther caught a glimpse of his son's servant boy stabbing a masked knight in the back before his line of sight was obscured by the shades in the courtyard coming back into focus, clearer and more solid in form. Now Uther knew them, each and every one, those who had met their end in this very courtyard on a block or tied to a stake or drowned in a tub of water.

He squeezed at his left arm as searing pain sped outward from his heart and down his veins. "Ar-thur." He fell forward and his son embraced him.

"Father."

"Forgive...me." The ghostly forms offered no absolution.

"Father!"

Uther lifted his head stiffly, peering into Arthur's eyes, and raised a quivering hand to his cheek. "Forgive...please."

Arthur's eyes brimmed with tears. "I forgive you."

The dragon above them took to the air, a girl secured in its claws, a sword hilt buried in its breast. Uther's eyesight darkened. His heart stilled. The world faded.

* * *

Color returned to Morgana's cheeks and Morgause breathed a sigh of relief. "Sister?"

Morgana slowly sat up, out of Morgause's embrace. She glanced at her arm. It didn't bleed, though it hadn't healed completely.

"Morgana?" another voice asked.

She looked at Mordred, gently chastising. "You shouldn't have come."

He grasped the hand she held out to him. "I had to know he died." He smiled. "We're free."

Morgana followed Mordred's gaze and her stomach dropped. Arthur wept over his father who lay still. Morgana pushed to her feet.

"Sister." Morgause clasped her hand, but Morgana slipped away from her grip. She came upon Merlin first, kneeling, pale, eyes rounded, a pile of ashy dust in front of him.

"Merlin?"

He didn't look at her, just kept staring into the sky. She continued on. Others dotted the courtyard in various states of shock like Merlin, unsure about what they had awoken to witness and what actions to take. Something pounded at the citadel gate. She barely glanced that way as she trudged to Arthur and his father... _their_ father.

Arthur glanced up when she reached him and the betrayal etched on his face skewered her. "You knew about this!" he accused in a high pitched, hysterical voice. "This is why you wouldn't tell me where she was! Your sister!"

"I only knew she hated Uther...and you...but I thought...maybe Uther, but not you..." She stopped speaking, her excuses weak even to her own ears. She knew why she hadn't told Arthur, hadn't warned him a witch planned for the death of the royal Pendragons and might make a move soon. She'd left the possibility of punishing Uther Pendragon open.

"What did he do to you?" Arthur demanded, eyes wild in grief.

"I thought...if I knew the truth...it might be lies..."

"He loved you!"

Morgana's chin trembled. "He did so much evil. Arthur, listen―"

"Get away!" Arthur's arms tightened around Uther, protecting his father's corpse.

The events of the past hour tumbled through Morgana's brain. How she'd discovered that Uther tortured her beloved father to death, that the man who had been her world was never her real father, that Uther had wanted her dead before she drew breath, that she'd been denied her sister. Merlin had magic. Arthur had witnessed her plead for his life, but not Uther's. She had agreed Uther should die. Her life in Camelot had shredded to tatters.

"Lancelot," she whispered, the dark eyes and bearded face so precious to her rising to the forefront, so honorable and true and pure hearted. She had tried to kill the king. He'd be horrified. He'd reject her. Nothing remained for her here except accusation and charges of collusion. She scrambled back towards Morgause.

When she reached Merlin, she crouched down and cupped his chin. His eyes blurred with tears met hers. "Good-bye, my Merlin. Don't let him look for me. Don't let any of them."

She released him and hurried back to Morgause. "Take me away." The witch stood.

"Morgana?" Merlin questioned after her.

"Take me away!" She repeated without looking back.

Morgause grasped Morgana's arm and Mordred's and in a flurry of wind, they disappeared.

* * *

Nimueh had felt the dark magic recede. "The way is open! Balinor?" She turned to the dragonlord. He was leaning into the citadel wall, eyes wide in shock. She gripped his arm and shook him. "Balinor!"

"Kilgharrah," he muttered.

She had heard the dragon's roar along with everyone, but knew Balinor could do more―he'd feel him. "What has happened?"

He didn't reply and she didn't need an answer when people started screaming at the gate. She whipped around to see the dragon diving downwards. Those at the gate several meters away fled, except the brave knights, who drew swords and held their ground. But the dragon veered, gliding towards his lord. That was when she perceived the hilt of a sword sticking out of his breast, right over his heart.

She didn't duck as Kilgharrah swooped low to land. Their gazes locked only briefly and her heart clenched at the depth of mourning in his dulled eyes, a mirror of her own grief when years ago she'd learned of the judgments against her family. Balinor rushed to meet him and any protest she might have mustered didn't reach her lips when the dragonlord climbed onto his back and the dragon lifted once more, flapping away from the capital.

A splintering of wood cracked the air. The knights had broken the gate. Making sure her hood was secure, she rushed back to the entrance. The portcullis was down, but guards on the other side worked to raise it. When the way was clear, knights streamed into the courtyard. She followed, no one caring about a nondescript woman in a cloak at a time like this. They halted, lowering their swords. The sight that greeted them would break the heart of any feeling man.

The prince sat on the cobbles, cradling his father, bent over weeping. The courtyard was silent but for his crying. Nimueh scanned the area. Morgause wasn't there. She must have fled having accomplished one goal at least―the death of Uther Pendragon.

Nimueh retraced her steps through the gate. More subjects who had returned after the danger of the dragon passed were swarming into the courtyard. She'd glimpsed Emrys kneeling not far away from the prince, mimicking his father's shock. Her heart ached for him. The boy had been intent on protecting Arthur Pendragon and was a dragonlord as well. This day must be his worst nightmare.

She paced quickly back towards the towns. She could feel sorry for Emrys and be touched by the prince's cries, but the corners of her lips curved nonetheless. _Uther Pendragon_ , _you have received nothing but what your crimes warranted and your restitution was long overdue._

* * *

The dragon underneath him faltered to the right and Balinor hung onto a horn for dear life.

"Kilgharrah! Land!"

 _Not yet, dragonlord._ Kilgharrah hadn't spoken to him aloud since he'd come for him at the citadel wall. He assumed it was too painful for the beast to speak. As he'd flown, the dragon had recounted the tale of the courtyard, assuring him of the defeat of the Knights of Medhir and the preservation of Merlin's life, but he was vague on his own wounding.

Balinor opened his mouth to order the dragon to land, but then bit his tongue. It felt unfair to force the dragon to do anything as wounded as he was. Persuasion, though, was possible. "You're dying."

 _Yes._

Balinor's heart constricted. "Land and let me help you."

 _I will land when I reach the Lake of Avalon._

"You are wounded so greatly only the Sidhe can aid you," Balinor perceived.

 _I_ must _go to the Sidhe._

"Press on, then, as fast as able."

 _We are almost there._

Balinor peered down at the dragon's front right paw, claws clutching an unconscious form, the bastet, Lady Freya, whose side was dark with blood. The dragon had stated she was alive. Balinor tried not to despair at the thought of losing both of them.

Kligharrah began to descend. A shining blue lake appeared, unnaturally bright. Balinor had only ever visited the Sidhe in the company of a dragon. The spirit beings had a rapport with beasts, but were far more skittish with men. The sandy shore grew closer and closer. Kilgharrah alighted upon it, setting Freya down as Balinor slid off his neck and ran to the lakefront.

"Oh mighty Sidhe, I call―"

"Do not summon them!"

Balinor started at the dragon's fierce voice and whirled around. Kilgharrah wasn't even looking at him, but at Freya's still form. Hot breath tinged in white light wafted over the girl, a healing spell ruffling her free flowing dark hair. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Kil-gharrah?"

The dragon nudged her with his snout. "Yes...kitling."

Her eyes went wide and she bolted upright. "You're hurt! What happened?"

Kilgharrah kept his solemn eyes unblinking on hers. His voice was soft and broken when he spoke. "This is not...your doing. You must never believe...it so." The words came out watery, soggily slurred.

"You came after me," the girl realized, jumping to her feet. "You came to Camelot. They hurt you!"

"This was to be...You could not stop it...and I would not. That you were involved...I am sorry."

"Kilgharrah," Freya mumbled, clasping onto the dragon's right leg.

"Tell me...what I once told you...here."

"You said...when I think I've lost what's most dear, come here and don't look back."

"Never forget this."

"Don't die," the girl pleaded.

"Do not...forget it."

"I won't. Ever. I promise."

"Dragonlord Balinor."

Balinor raised his hands once more, thinking to call the spirits who could spare the dragon.

"You and your son...are the only ones...who can preserve my kin... Protect them...raise them...fill this world with our like."

Kilgharrah gently shook Freya off his leg, then moved to stand next to him. "Old friend?" Balinor inquired, his own eyes moistening.

Kigharrah glanced at him, then stared out at the lake. "There is hope." The dragon's voice was a whisper. "I would not...do this...if I did not...believe it. Support Emrys and the Golden Prince...in them lies the future...of Albion." The dragon waddled to the edge of the lake. He took one long, deep breath, then called out in a loud voice, "I am ready! Accept my sacrifice."

Bluish lights sprung from the lake, hundreds, thousands, millions, zipping over its surface. Balinor backed away, a healthy fear causing him to retreat from something sacred taking place that didn't ask for his participation. The lights swirled around Kilgharrah, and every now and then Balinor thought he spied a tiny humanlike form when one paused for a moment. Kilgharrah waded into the lake, the beings wrapped tightly around every inch of his form.

Someone grasped at Balinor's sleeve and he looked down at Freya. He wrapped an arm around her trembling shoulders. Kilgharrah continued on and began to fade, shining golden scales going gray, limbs growing transparent. Then, in an instant, he was gone.

* * *

The world had become a blur to Merlin. Figures and colors swirled around him, but he didn't recognize them. At some point, strong hands grasped his shoulders and brought him to a stand, but he wobbled on jellied legs. He was carried, swaying back and forth. Light grew dim, castle interiors passing by him as if of their own accord. He was deposited on a cot and all noise dissolved into silence. He said nothing, he looked nowhere, and a single tear rolled down his cheek...

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew his nose stung terribly. The sharp pain jolted him to consciousness. "Ow," he complained and batted at whatever evil was assaulting his appendage. A firm hand gripped his and pressed it back down onto the cot.

"Hold still, my boy."

 _Gaius?_ Merlin opened his eyes and focused on the elderly man peering down at him, pressing a cloth to his nose.

"It's not broken," the physician reassured, "but quite swollen. And your jaw is bruised." Yeah. That was when Arthur had elbowed him to get to his father... Images played over in his mind―masked knights, a vengeful witch, Freya, Mordred, Morgana gone, Uther dead in Arthur's arms, Kilgharrah wounded. He bolted upright and Gaius jumped back.

"Merlin," the physician chastised.

Merlin didn't respond; he'd closed his eyes and was thinking furiously. _Kilgharrah? Talk to me! You must hear me! Kilgharrah!_

A tender hand clasped his shoulder. "Lay back."

"Kilgharrah was hurt and Freya."

"I have heard." Gaius' eyelids drooped in sorrow.

"Is he dead? Is she?"

"I don't know. No one has seen them. The dragon flew away with her. Don't you remember, Merlin?"

Yes. He did. Kind of.

Gaius gently pushed him back down onto the cot. "There is nothing you can do right now. Let me tend you."

Merlin stared at the ceiling as Gaius continued to work, trying to process all that had happened. "Uther's dead?"

"Yes," came the physician's confirmation.

 _Arthur._ Merlin's breath choked his throat. A magical attack had caused both the death of his mother _and_ father. This would harden him forever and... oh, gods. Arthur knew he'd done things, deceived him. A great sob welled up. Gaius' hands withdrew from his face and after a second, he was pulled into a tight embrace.

"Hush now," Gaius whispered softly.

"He knows, Gaius," Merlin wept into his shoulder. "He knows."

"About your magic?"

"Not exactly."

Gaius patted his back. "What does he know?"

"About Freya and Kilgharrah."

"That you are associated with them." Merlin nodded, his forehead sliding against the coarse fabric of Gaius' robe. "Perhaps this is for the best."

Merlin pulled away, staring in disbelief at the physician.

"The door is now open for you to be more honest with Arthur. This is a first step."

Merlin swallowed hard. "I can't see him...I can't ever see him."

"You will have to," Gaius returned with a hint of stubbornness. "Unless you intend to let him bear his burdens alone."

Merlin blinked his eyes and wiped at his cheeks. Of course. Arthur would be in a lot of pain and distress and... "He'll be king."

Gaius' somber eyes met his. "Such a change would have been hard, but the manner in which it has occurred... The people are fearful. Their king has been taken from them and the heir will ascend. He will need to be strong and quickly."

Merlin rose from the cot. "I'll wash up and go to him."

"Merlin. This is not the best time to tell him everything. You have taken one step. Tomorrow you may take another."

Merlin nodded shortly, understanding. Give Arthur time to swallow these first truths before thrusting more upon him. He had just reached his washstand when a familiar voice sounded in his mind.

 _Your bastet lives._

 _Kilgharrah?_

 _Hope in Arthur Pendragon. In him will you accomplish your purpose and bring the age of Albion._

 _You sound like...you're leaving._

A small chuckle, tired and regretful. _I will miss you, young warlock. It has been a privilege to have known you._

A shock of fire ripped through him. He staggered and caught himself on the edge of the washstand, knowing without question Kilgharrah was dead.

* * *

The door to the council chamber creaked opened. "My lord?"

Arthur, who had been staring blankly ahead, looked to the interloper. Gwen. The other councilors in the room turned, looks of consternation on their faces.

"You are needed," the maidservant said.

"For what?" a councilor challenged. "There is much to be done before the night is out."

Arthur rolled his eyes to the man, Arnott, a curmudgeon obsessed with rules and regulations.

Gwen's shoulders stiffened in defiance. "Before the night is out, the prince's vigil will begin."

Several of the councilors eyed each other and another, more soft spoken, asserted quietly, "If he is needed, let him go. We can recommence after the evening meal."

A few grumbled, but most glanced at the quiet prince with sympathy and not a little trepidation. In some deep recess of his mind, Arthur knew he hadn't done his duty. He'd sat and listened and answered only "yes" or "no" if necessary.

The councilors gathered papers and departed. Arnott glared at Gwen, the last to pass her. Arthur watched the girl approach. "What do you need?" he asked mechanically.

"Arthur." Her hand lay against his cheek, and he couldn't help pressing into it and covering it with his own. "I'm so sorry."

He nodded.

"I came to get you out of this. You shouldn't be making decisions. This is your time to mourn."

"Not yours?" he asked, a little heat in his voice.

"All of Camelot."

"Not all."

Gwen lowered her eyes. "I suppose there are those who will..."

"Take joy in it," Arthur finished.

"Forget them."

"Is his body prepared?"

"Soon."

"I need to go to him." Arthur stood.

"Wait a while. Let me take you to your chambers. You must change and⸻"

"I want to see him," Arthur insisted.

"All right." She took his arm even though he didn't offer it as they walked out the door and towards the grand hall. "They say...Morgana..."

"Do not speak of her."

Gwen gratefully acquiesced, going silent. They reached the hall. The door was open, affording a view of the solemn dressing of his father's body. Tonight, he'd be expected to kneel in front of the table on which his father would rest, to spend an entire night alone with the dead.

Gwen moved in front of him, fixing her eyes on his. "If I could take this from you, I would."

Arthur's chest grew hot, his brow clammy. This couldn't be happening. All of this. This way. He was losing everything. Gwen's eyes darted behind him. Arthur craned his neck over his shoulder and another barrier slammed down in his mind when he beheld the figure tottering on the threshold.

"Tell him to go," he instructed Gwen. He heard her shuffle behind him and whispered voices. Then his scribe dared to speak.

"Arthur. I only wanted to..."

Arthur whirled, stalking to the door and stopping to glare daggers at Merlin. "You rescued the Druid girl, didn't you?"

"I..."

"You hid her. Helped her get out. Something. Admit it."

"I...did."

"Arthur," Gwen interrupted. "You helped Mordred, so..."

The pain in Arthur's heart let loose on the youth staring at him with hurt eyes glazed over with tears. "You _deceived_ me. I thought I could trust you!"

"You can." Merlin bit a trembling lip

"The dragon? How do you know of it?"

"My...father..."

"What?"

"He's...a dragonlord."

Arthur stared. "They're all dead."

"Not him."

"What else, Merlin?" Arthur demanded, grasping his arm and shaking him. "What else have you hidden from me? How have you lied?"

Merlin shook his head and pulled away, breaking Arthur's hold. He glanced at Gwen, then turned and ran.

Arthur buried his face in a hand.

"That was uncalled for," Gwen's voice reproved. "Merlin―"

"Leave me. That's a command."

"Yes...my lord." Her footsteps stomped away leaving Arthur to turn to the stunned workers who went back to dressing his father as if they hadn't heard a word.

* * *

Lancelot pounded through the citadel. In the chaos, no one had prevented him from entering, his exile forgotten. The sight in the courtyard had been heartrending―people waking up from a magical induced sleep, Merlin in shock, Arthur barely functioning, Uther dead, and Morgana missing once more. Witnesses said she'd told the witch that had attacked them to take her away. Impossible. She wouldn't leave him.

After carrying Merlin to Gaius, aiding those with minor injuries, and confirming the security of the castle, Lancelot had searched out Merlin. The witnesses also said Morgana had talked to the boy right before she had disappeared. He thought perhaps she had left a clue about how to rescue her.

He turned the corner into the final passage to reach the grand hall. Gaius said Merlin had gone to check on Arthur. As he sighted the doors, the boy he meant to find emerged at a run. He would have charged right past, but Lancelot managed to snatch his jacket.

"Hey! I've been looking for you."

Merlin rubbed at tear streaks on his cheeks. The boy had always been so emotional. It must be hard watching Arthur suffer his father's death. Gwen appeared, pacing slowly down the hall.

"He'll be all right, Merlin. It will just take time."

Merlin shook his head. "It won't be fine."

Lancelot let go his jacket. "I, eh, wondered about Morgana. They say she said something to you."

"She said not to let anyone look for her."

Lancelot frowned. "That...can't be right."

"It's what she told me. She..."

Gwen stopped next to both of them and caught Merlin's eye, shaking her head slightly.

"What?" Lancelot asked.

"Arthur won't talk about her," Gwen informed him.

"Why?" He glanced at the boy. "Merlin?"

"Ask _him_ ," the boy mumbled and sniffed.

"Merlin." Gwen's hand squeezed his shoulder in comfort. "I'm sorry for how Arthur treated you. Is what he said true?"

Merlin stepped backwards. "Doesn't matter." He ran the length of the hall and disappeared around the corner.

Lancelot turned his attention to Gwen. "What happened?"

"Merlin lied to Arthur, I think."

"How?"

"He helped the Druid girl who was almost executed."

Lancelot's eyebrows raised in surprise, but he believed the assertion immediately, the news filling in a gap in his own knowledge. The girl flew through the courtyard? Not likely. But the power of a boy sorcerer? That made sense.

"And his father is a dragonlord. He knew the dragon."

Lancelot firmed his jaw. "I'll talk to Arthur." He marched down the hall.

"He's not listening to anyone," Gwen called after him.

"He'll listen to me." Lancelot stormed through the double doors to discover Arthur sitting on one of the window benches, eyes glued to the preparations of the king's body. He strode over to the man who had been his friend all these years and slipped down next to him.

"I'm sorry," he began.

Arthur snorted. "Everyone's _sorry_ , like it changes something to say it."

"We just mean to express our sorrow for you."

Arthur tightened his jaw.

"I need to talk to you about organizing a search party."

"No."

Lancelot bristled, sitting straighter. "Morgana―"

"Chose her sister," Arthur blurted out.

"Her...sister?"

Arthur rounded on him in triumph. "So, she hid even that from you, did she? The witch is her sister. She knew her plans."

"That...can't be. She would have said something."

"She _knew_."

"Surely she wouldn't want _this_." Lancelot jabbed a finger at Uther's corpse.

Arthur laughed snidely. "She said he did evil. She acted like he _deserved_ this."

"And so he did." Lancelot almost regretted the affirmation the moment he'd said it, but the time for soft words had passed. Arthur narrowed flashing eyes at him. "You know I left because I wouldn't use my sword against the innocents your father targeted."

"How dare you desecrate his memory."

"He did it himself, Arthur."

"Get ou⸻"

"No! You will hear me whether you want to or not. Your father terrorized people who didn't deserve it. Morgana saw that."

"So she joins with a witch? Her sister?" Arthur snapped. Those preparing the body seemed to have finished and were making a quick exit, glancing back at the arguing pair.

"I don't know..."

"No, you don't! You don't know her, Lancelot!" Arthur came to his feet, pacing away, his hand raking through his hair in anguish. "You thought you did, but you don't. None of us do!"

"So what will you do?" Lancelot shot back, rising to his feet. "Start another Purge? Continue the crimes of your father. Seek her out to destroy her?"

"I'll find the _witch_. She'll die."

"And then Morgana? Could you kill her?"

"If she stands with her sister, she's against me."

"And Merlin? Is he against you, too?"

Confusion drew Arthur's brows together. "Merlin? What has he got to do with it?"

"Your father slaughtered the dragonlords. Will you slaughter the son of one?"

Arthur blinked and his eyes hardened once more. "You knew. He told _you_? Not me?"

"Why would he confess it to you? Think, Arthur." Lancelot advanced towards the prince. "Why would Morgana tell you about Morgause or Merlin about his father? Uther's hands are covered in the blood of witches and dragonlords."

"My father saved this land!"

"From who? Those who never meant him harm?"

"How many times have they tried to kill him?"

"After he killed them! What should they do? Stand by as they are slaughtered until there is no one left? They had no recourse but to attack him again and again to try and save themselves. Yes. Your father deserved to be judged."

Arthur's eyes burned flames, his chest rose and fell like a racing warhorse.

Lancelot sucked in a deep breath, reigning in his storming heart. "Listen," he spoke quietly. "You have your own experience to judge by. You stood up for your people's interest and faced your father's injustice. It's marked into your flesh. Can you blame Morgana or Merlin for hiding from him? From you?"

"Get out," Arthur growled lowly.

"I intend to second you at the vigil."

"I said, get out! Your exile stands. If I find you here, your punishment will be on your own head!" Arthur's eyes bulged and Lancelot backed towards the door.

"Fine, Arthur. Honor your father." He nodded his head towards the prepared body. "Choose him and not those who've loved you far better than he ever did." He turned on his heel and stalked out of the hall.

* * *

"Merlin?" Gaius questioned when the boy came barreling through his chamber, making for his bedroom. "How is Arthur?"

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine." He reached his door, opened it, shut it, and slid the lock. He leaned back, trying to catch his breath and not let his heart beat out of his chest. Everything that had meant anything to him had crumbled away. Kilgharrah was dead. Freya apparently living, but hurt. Morgana had left them. And Arthur, he'd lost his trust. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Merlin slammed a fist into the wardrobe beside the door. It hurt like hell and he was glad. He'd rather his hand throb than his heart continue shattering into a thousand pieces. He should have confessed before now. If he'd completed the bond, he might have accessed his power and done something to stop it all, showed Arthur the good of magic. Instead, he'd lost Arthur forever.

 _You_ deceived _me. I thought I could trust you!_

What trust could there be when the deepest, most truest part of him was buried so far down it hardly saw the light of day?

 _What else, Merlin? What else have you hidden from me? How have you lied?_

So much. Every day. Over and over again. Lies and half-truths and cover ups. Arthur would never trust him again. He'd ruined the prophecy. The two sides of the coin had been ripped apart.

Merlin's eyes roamed the room aimlessly, finally falling on his desk and the inkwell and set of quills Arthur had given him for his birthday to write anything he wanted. He knew immediately what he wanted to write. _Needed_ to write. Now. Before he buried it once more.

Merlin ran across to his desk, rocked into the chair, yanked out a blank parchment, dipped a quill, and began to write.

 _You said I deceived you. You asked what else I haven't told you. This is everything._


	81. Revealed

**Author's Note:** Longest chapter yet. Phew.

* * *

The whirlwind dissipated and all three of the figures tossed out collapsed. For a long time, none spoke, recovering from the shock of such a vast journey completed in moments. The youngest overcame the strain first, crawling to a slender form.

"Morgana?"

The dark haired woman didn't respond, only stared blankly, though a pulse pounded in her neck. Mordred surveyed the second woman sporting blonde highlights who had doubled over and retched violently on arrival. She dragged a sleeve across her mouth, caring not a jot for her attire, and fixed him with an accusing glare. "I thought you were Emrys."

"I am."

"You can't withstand a dark spell and you can't heal."

"And you're throwing up all over the ground!" came the childish retort.

Morgause heaved again, choking against the putrid stench of her own vomit. She'd never transported anyone this far; a few more seconds and it would have been impossible. She already felt the added boost seeping from her veins. The Dochraid had warned her about the effects of the darkness imparted to her, but she would willing pay the price a hundred times over. Uther Pendragon was dead. That was all that mattered. She wiped at her mouth again.

"Help me stand." she commanded. Mordred gave her his hand and she rose. "If you are Emrys, perhaps your power is not as great as foretold and only your presence is necessary for success."

"I can do magic. Lots of it."

"Hm." Morgause ignored him, kneeling next to Morgana. "Sister?"

"She's alive."

Morgause's gaze roved over her sister's face. "But unaware." She pressed the back of her hand to Morgana's forehead. " _Onwac_." Morgana's eyes remained unfocused. " _Onwac_."

"You can't do the spell?"

She resisted the urge to strike the boy for the insolence in his tone, instead concentrating on assessing herself. Her insides felt raw, used up. She supposed the effect of maintaining the sleeping spell and transporting them here had sapped her of strength. "Do not forget my power destroyed the king of Camelot. Is that not what you wanted more than anything?"

Mordred begrudgingly nodded.

"You try." Morgause gestured at Morgana.

Mordred breathed deeply, laid his hand on Morgana's shoulder, and spoke quietly. " _Onwac_."

Morgana gasped a breath. Her gaze flitted to Mordred, then Morgause. "Where are we?"

"The Labyrinth."

Morgana groaned and her eyes filled with tears. Morgause snatched her hand and pulled her up to embrace her. "My dear sister. The truth is hard, but frees the soul." She leaned back and carded her fingers through Morgana's long hair. "You need never fear Uther Pendragon again."

"High Priestess?"

Morgause whirled around, hand in the air, through the magic that usually tingled in her fingers was absent. Luckily, she had no need to employ it. "Kara!" She strode to the girl with a bruise decorating her neck. "What happened?"

"Nimueh came. She looked into my mind..." The girl shuddered with the memory of the violation. "I'm sorry. She found out where you went."

"She did not interfere, so no harm was done." More of her ragtag group had emerged from the nearby wood. They weren't many and most little versed in magic. Kara was one of the strongest. Morgause glanced back at the Labryinth. "But we cannot stay here. You were wise to leave." No telling what Nimueh might do with the knowledge of their hideaway.

"Where will we go?" Kara asked.

"The Druids," a voice called out.

Morgause looked over her shoulder at the one who called himself Emrys. "The high priestesses and Druids have never been on good terms."

"There's a camp of Druids who want the Pendragons dead. They will welcome all of you."

Morgana's left eyebrow rose in interest, not missing the sudden shy smile that passed between Kara and the boy. Perhaps Emrys had use, and his part to play in these events was not over just different than she'd anticipated. "You know the location of this camp?"

Mordred nodded.

"It seems our only option at the moment." She'd evaluate these Druids and if they proved safe, she could sent out messengers to her other supporters. There was still one Pendragon left to eliminate.

She moved back to Morgana, helping her stand, circling an arm around her waist. "We must travel farther, sister."

Morgana let herself be led. She had nowhere else to go.

* * *

Merlin stood up from his desk. The ache in his back was nothing compared to the ache in his writing hand. Crumpled parchment littered the floor around his chair. He couldn't count how many times had he rewritten the document. Arthur would have chastised him for wasting so much of a precious resource, but he kept remembering things he should have written or messing up the wording.

He made his way to his bed, utterly spent, when a chirp alerted him to someone up above. He dropped the roll of parchment he'd completed and sealed on his bed and dashed to the window. His eyes glowed as he shot upwards and caught himself on the roof ledge, then swung up.

The girl waiting for him didn't speak, just held out her arms. He rushed to embrace her tightly and she began to cry. "Kilgharrah's dead," she managed through gulps.

"I know," he replied and his own tears mingled with hers. Neither spoke for a long time, until he pushed back and wiped at his eyes then hers, smoothing her hair back to fully view her face. He touched her side. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "He healed me."

"Arthur knows I helped you escape before the execution."

"Oh, Merlin." She put a warm hand to his cheek. "I didn't mean to."

"It's okay. You were right about Morgana."

"What will Arthur do to you?"

"I don't know. But I know what _I_ have to do."

* * *

The doors behind Arthur shut with an ominous echo in the sparse grand hall. He was alone, clothed in his chain mail with a dagger strapped to his belt, symbolic of his strength and impassibility, indicating he possessed the correct demeanor to be king. Yet he knew himself a fraud. Chaos and grief captained his soul. He was far from what his people deserved.

His eyes glazed once more. He didn't clear them even though he hated the blur. He'd been reduced to a weeping maid. Why could he not control his sensations like his father had? If anyone sneaked a peek at him now, they would stumble upon the secret that he was unworthy to be king.

Arthur slowly approached the raised bier on which his father laid. He was supposed to stay here all night and emerge ready to take up his father's mantle. Someone else was meant to wait outside the door, a show of support for the new king. Typically a knight was assigned, and Arthur would have chosen Lancelot, even if he wasn't officially a knight any longer, but instead he'd reasserted his friend's exile from the castle. He had only himself to thank for feeling so abandoned at this moment.

Lancelot may not have been near, but his words rang in Arthur's ears. All afternoon they'd tumbled about in his thoughts, been harried back, then surged forwards once again. Arthur had made every effort to concentrate on the council and the responsibilities that must be seen to as he moved forward towards kingship. He'd done his duty, and the councilors nodded at him with more approval and confidence than they had before. Pride had arisen. He could handle this.

Then he'd been dressed in his mail, marched to the hall, the doors closed, and illusion had crumbled. Lancelot's words took advantage of the weakness. Arthur fought back with a truth he'd been asserting all day―Lancelot had been misguided. His former knight's father had been an abusive, cruel man, and he couldn't help but apply his own experience to Uther Pendragon. Arthur's father had never been cruel or abusive. Strict, yes, of course. He had to be. His son was the heir of a kingdom and it was necessary to shape and mold him into what Camelot needed.

Arthur recalled his very first memory, a rough palm clutching his hand, guiding him down a hall and out into the sunshine. Where they were going or what they were doing, he didn't remember, but the feeling that he was special and cared for remained. Days his father ignored his own schedule to train with him came to mind as well. The king had shown him a thing or two until old battle wounds became too painful. And there was the night he'd been so sick they thought he might die. His entire body had been awash in sweat, and every moment he awoke, his father's anxious face stared down at him. His entire life, he'd been given the best of everything. His father had loved and loved well.

Arthur leaned over the body and kissed his father's forehead.

* * *

At the end of the day, Gwen had retreated to Morgana's chamber. She'd cared for it all the months the ward had been missing, nothing out of place, every inch cleaned and polished. She glanced down at her lifeless arm. She'd tried to stop Morgana leaving once, but this time her mistress apparently departed of her own accord. Or so it seemed. The idea that the witch might be controlling Morgana wouldn't let Gwen go. If so, then she had been helpless to resist.

Gwen wrapped her healthy arm around her waist as she sat in the chair she used to occupy when Morgana read or deigned to work her embroidery. So much they had shared―hopes and dreams and idle gossip. Until magic had intruded on her mistress and terrified her.

Arthur might deny Morgana, but Lancelot would go look for, she knew it. He would never give up on the woman he loved. She'd come back. She had to.

A small knock sounded on the door before it hesitantly opened. "Gwen?"

"Merlin," Gwen greeted, standing. The lanky boy stepped tentatively in.

"I, eh, wanted to thank you for saying that stuff after Arthur..." His Adam's apple bobbed; he didn't need to say more.

"Of course." She wandered over to him and clasped his hand, looking directly into his sorrowful eyes. "Arthur's grieving and hurt. He needs time."

"Yeah." He rubbed at his face, then stared at her intently. "I...wanted to give you something."

"Oh?"

Merlin looked down, sucked in a large breath, and wriggled out of her handhold to grasp her limp arm with both his hands. She made to pull away, but he held tightly. "Please. Let me."

Gwen stilled, eyes narrowed.

"Don't be afraid, okay?"

"Wh―?" But her question cut off when his half lidded eyes glowed and a pleasant warmth seeped into her arm. It began to tingle, a limb coming alive after a long sleep. She gasped. Merlin let her go. She stared at her arm, curling her fingers. The action was stiff, but more than she'd managed in months.

She raised her astonished gaze to Merlin and whispered hoarsely. "You have magic. All this time..."

"Don't tell Arthur yet. Please."

"Morgana...do you know..."

"She has it, too? Yeah."

"Merlin...I..."

"I have to go." Merlin backtracked, leaving a speechless Gwen to fall back into her chair in awe.

* * *

Arthur's head snapped up at a clash of rain against dark stained glass. Numerous flames dancing atop candelabra flickered at air currents whisping through cracks in the ancient structure. He'd been doing what he was supposed to, reflecting on his father and himself, nursing his pleasant memories, but another kind had intruded and he'd bit his lip to squelch an involuntary cry of anguish.

 _You father did not always love well_ , the invading memory hissed. Unabated rain pinging onto the roof accentuated a series of disappointed looks he'd borne from his father along with criticisms that cut sharply―"What would your mother think if she were here? What kind of son would she want?" He hadn't thought it cruel at the time, but perhaps it had been callous to cast the burden of an absent mother on a young soul. He'd struggled for years imagining his mother a demanding ghost haunting his steps.

Other times came to mind, when he'd stepped over the line too far and his father had been forced to enact a stronger punishment to change his behavior. He'd always tried to be brave, but his heart hammered when a guard would wield a rod and harshly reprove his body as his father looked on. But after all, he'd deserved it every time, hadn't he?

 _Not always_ , his traitorous thoughts whispered again. He couldn't remember every reason he'd been punished, but the most recent event had yielded far more than a thrashing and was all too vivid―chains cold and tight chafed his wrists, a stone wall hard and unyielding blocked his escape, and a whip brutal and knotted burned stripes into his back. He'd gone against his father, yes, and perhaps had deserved it, but he couldn't banish the thought he had done what he did for good reason. Even so, that wasn't abuse, surely. His father hadn't been thinking straight, listening to the words of a troll. _But he listened_ , the inner voice taunted.

Arthur looked up at the bier. He couldn't see much but the length of his father's body shrouded in a red cape. What if he hadn't been thinking straight at other times, and Arthur couldn't remember. The thrashings he'd been given, the disparaging looks and the upbraiding threats―was it possible some of them might have been undeserved as well?

* * *

Lancelot shivered in his cloak, drawing it closer around his frame. Rain poured down around him where he leaned against a city wall, peering up at lights shining from citadel windows. Curse, Arthur! He couldn't be there when the man needed him the most, but he couldn't abandon him either. A vow compelled him to be here, right now, if he couldn't occupy a position next to the grieving prince.

So many years ago, when his own father had died, he'd knelt beside a pool, meeting his reflection, and read in it nothing but relief. What had he to look back on but pain and terror? The days his father hadn't enacted some form of abuse were few and far between, even if it was just a slap or two. Fortunately for him, his father had been away more than home.

Arthur's father had hurt him as well, perhaps not to the extent of his own, but still for selfish reasons in Lancelot's estimation―to make a perfect king. Though he had caught Uther's love for his son as well underneath the gruff exterior. Those times, a pang of jealousy had balked within him, that even the prince with all the burdens thrust upon him still possessed what he lacked.

Perhaps he shouldn't have said the things he did, should have let Arthur grieve before pressing him too hard. Unfortunately, it didn't matter now. He'd said what he had and he couldn't take it back.

He sighed inwardly, heart weary. So much would happen now. Arthur would rise to kinghood. Things would change and he couldn't assume a place in it. He could go after Morgana, but she had asked that no one look for her. Why? Had she truly given her loyalty to the witch? She couldn't have. Not if the stories were true, that she hurt herself to stop the attack. But then why say it? And if he did leave, he was breaking his promise to Arthur to serve him as king.

Another cloaked figure appeared, creeping along the wall, a bulge indicating a pack slung over his back underneath the garment. When the form drew close, he straightened. "Merlin?"

The boy stopped, blinking against the rain. "Lancelot."

"What are you doing out here?"

"What are you doing out here?"

"I asked first."

Merlin shifted the weight on his shoulders. "Errand for Gaius."

Lancelot lifted his eyebrows. "At night? In this downpour?"

"It's desperately needed. What about you?"

Lancelot looked back at the castle and sighed. "I can't leave him. I should. But I can't."

"Yeah," the boy said, the short word muttered with such understanding, Lancelot wondered at its meaning.

"Look, Arthur will calm down. He needs time."

"That's what Gwen said."

"Well, just give it to him. We can talk to him again when he'll listen. I'll go with you. He can't really blame you for helping the Druid girl when he helped the boy. And I'll explain your father to him. Be patient."

"I'm giving him time," Merlin muttered.

Lancelot slapped the boy on the shoulder. "Go on. Get those medicines delivered and find a hearth to dry you out."

Merlin nodded, hesitated, then said, "Bye," and trudged away towards the towns.

Lancelot looked after him. Something felt off. Well, he supposed that was to be expected. Everything had gone to hell in a hand basket so fast, none of them would be the same for a long time.

* * *

Arthur shifted from kneeling to prevent his legs going to sleep, steepling his knees and sinking his forehead into them. He'd once asked Gaius why his father hated him. The physician insisted his father didn't hate him, just didn't know how to show his care. But he had once. Gaius had claimed yesterday―was it only just?―that his father had been a man who laughed and joyed in life. He would never have described his father in such a way, even on the best days. Magic was at fault. Its evil had destroyed his father.

 _Your birth_ , a countering whisper reminded. Bile stung his throat, and he threw his head back to concentrate on the grand hall's crossing beams far above. _My birth._ Ygraine's death, Gaius had corrected. His mother taken and his father broken. Magic, responsible for life and for death.

Arthur glared at the ceiling. Magic stalked his every step, an evil abomination causing destruction and hate, corrupting the soul. But not Gaius? Or Hunith? Or Gaius' lady friend, Alice? Arthur scrubbed angrily at his hair, mussing without care. Apparently Merlin's father as well. A dragonlord? They had been hunted down, the dragons they controlled killed, but not Merlin's father and apparently at least one dragon. Neither the man nor the dragon had returned to torch Camelot into oblivion. If he had known Merlin's father was a dragonlord, he'd have...

Arthur froze. Killed Merlin's father? Torn the boy's heart to shreds like his was now? It would have been the correct action. His father had impressed upon him the danger of the dragons wielded by the enemies of Camelot. The traitors _had_ to die. He'd stood in the courtyard next to his father when the last of them, so he'd thought, had knelt at their feet. As a child, he'd been repulsed by the bloody and beaten man, and so looked away. But his father had turned his head back. _Look on justice, my son, and remember well._

Yes, they deserved it, all those who had clung to magic. They had to, because the alternative was too horrific to consider. If any were innocent, then that meant he'd watched people who had done nothing suffer the ultimate penalty, screaming as they burned, quivering in fear as the axe cleaved through their necks, or gurgling when cords garotted them in the dungeons without a public show. It meant people who hated the Pendragon crown had a reason, like the bandit who attacked him or Nimueh or Morgause or the angry Druids or...

The Druid girl. That Merlin rescued. And the Druid boy he smuggled out of the castle. Even _he_ hadn't been able to see a child go to the block! He'd betrayed his father and his kingdom because he'd decided those who used magic should be given a chance to renounce it. To change. To be better than they were. But what if some of them had no need to change at all?

The event in the courtyard existed as a jumbled puzzle in his mind. He still hadn't sorted it out, but he harbored the sneaking suspicion the girl in her bastet form―in daylight?―had stopped some of the masked knights. And the dragon? Had it killed his father or helped them as Merlin had said it would? After all, it had burnt all but one of the knights to a crisp and taken a sword in the chest for it.

Arthur leaned his back against the bier draped in red velvet. Rain continued to drum upon the windows. The hall grew colder. Arthur shivered.

 _So what will you do?_ Lancelot challenged. _Start another purge? Continue the crimes of your father?_

Would he turn his hand against Morgana? Merlin? Or those who seemed to do good, even when they disobeyed the law? Was there a way forward that wasn't treason against the crown and kingdom?

Thoughts stopped. It was too much to take in. Too much to consider. His body shook, racked with sobs he'd swallowed so long, guilt and regret and shame and loss and frustration. The hall echoed with his cries.

* * *

Gaius peeked into Merlin's room. The lumpy blanket indicated the boy had gone to bed. He quietly shut the door. The youth hadn't shown ever since he'd returned from going to see Arthur, claiming everything had been "fine," but of course, circumstances were far from fine.

The physician extinguished flames around the room, then sank onto his own cot. Sharpened toes alighted on his shoulder. "Ah, dear friend." Gaius lifted the feathery companion from his shoulder and lay down, setting Nero on his chest. The bird nestled in as he had these last few nights. Gaius idly ran his fingers over the kestrel's back. "Have you sensed it, too?" Change was in the wind, and whether good or bad, he daren't guess.

Gaius contemplated the dim ceiling. He'd dreaded this day, what it might do to the solitary young man in the grand hall this night. How it had happened had been far worse than he'd ever imagined. The tale swirling about the castle of witches and the possibility that Morgause was Morgana's sister... Why hadn't he told the young woman? She would have had warning. But he'd been so frightened, afraid she'd fall into the madness of sight.

Gaius rubbed at his forehead. In another life, Alice had knelt at the bedside of a patient resistant to even her skill and prayed. He mirrored her now. "Mover of All, Originator of Life, hear me. Preserve our king in soul and body and heart. May he return to us whole and free."

* * *

Tormented night hounded Arthur, ruthless as the cold chilling him to the bone. He dozed in-between fits of anxious worry. The whirlwind he'd been caught in wouldn't stop spinning. When rosy dawn filtered through rain-soaked windows, he dazedly gazed on red and gold glass reflecting the Pendragon seal and a disturbing thought took hold― _I am king._ From now on, every subject would look to him for protection and guidance. How could he lead them when he didn't even trust his own mind?

Something Merlin had said echoed in his ears: _You will be king, but you don't have to do it his way. You don't have to torture people in dungeons and kill children and flog your son...When you brought me here, I thought you were different._

Arthur pushed to a stand, sore from head to toe. He peered down at his father and his sight blurred once more. A man of joy? Of laughter? Such a man he hadn't known. The man in his memory was dominated by harshness and fear.

Standing there looking on Uther, Arthur knew he didn't want to be what he had been―alone. Who had he relied on? Himself. Who had he trusted? Few and not far. Who had he loved? Him and Morgana, but not well. "I'm not you, father," Arthur whispered. "I'm sorry."

If not his father, then who was he? Someone who yelled at everyone who loved him and _well_. Who turned out men daring to speak truth when he didn't want to hear it. Camelot didn't have a king; it had a fool.

Arthur lifted his chin, straightened to his full height, and turned to the door. A new day. A new life. A new duty. He had no choice from here but to go forward, to try and become someone his kingdom might one day deserve.

He marched to the door and rested a hand on the polished wood, admitting to himself he wanted to find Lancelot on the other side, the man having ignored his threat and stayed in the citadel irregardless. Or if not Lancelot, maybe hope beyond hope, Merlin?

When he pushed the door open, for a split second, disappointment flooded him. Then his breath caught in his throat. The hall was lined on either side with red caped knights at attention. One of them stepped out from his fellows and nodded his head. "Leon?"

"My liege," the older man greeted. "We heard you did not choose a second."

"How long have you been here?"

"All night." The curly haired man stepped to his side, gently prodding him in the back to march through the knights, each raising a sword as he passed. He recognized those he had personally trained, many younger than he, though a few of his father's older knights had joined in as well, ones who had treated him with respect and not chafed at his leadership.

"All night," Arthur mumbled. He had been far from alone after all. He paused at the end of the hall and addressed them. "You have honored me. I pray I may be good enough to honor you. For the love of Camelot."

A united shout filled the hall. "For the love of Camelot!"

Arthur's heart swelled as he muttered to Leon, "Dismiss them."

"Men, you may rest. Reassemble for the king's display at noon." He turned back to Arthur. "I will accompany you to your chamber."

They had proceeded only a few steps when Arthur slowed to a stop.

"My lord?"

"I didn't think... I've done so little for them, for my kingdom."

"If you may forgive my disagreeing with the king, that is not true. None have forgotten how you saved them from attacking their own civilians."

"Civilians?"

"The tax your father imposed, the mob that swarmed the castle. Many were known to us."

Arthur had never thought of that.

"That you stepped in and..." Leon's cheeks warmed.

"What?"

"Suffered for it," he spoke quietly, as if saying such disparaged the dead. "The story has been retold many times."

Arthur stood silent in awe. He hadn't known anyone thought of that event anymore except he.

"We knew then what side you were on."

Side. His father had divided their people into sides. "They don't blame the troll?" he wondered aloud.

Leon shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Your father was weak enough to let it influence him, but not you."

Arthur stared at him for a long moment, then asked, "Who was my father?"

Leon cocked his head. "Sire?"

"You've served him most of your life. Who was he?"

"Our king."

"Nothing more?"

"Serving him was serving Camelot."

So his father had secured Leon's loyalty because the knight loved Camelot, not out of personal loyalty as Arthur had always assumed.

"But now, Arthur, I serve _you_." Leon abruptly went to a knee, looking him in the eye. "And if I may be so bold...I believe you will be better than your father in almost every way."

Just as a dragon had declared. Arthur reached down to grasp the man's shoulders and pull him to a stand, so overwhelmed his next words were barely a whisper. "If only I had such confidence from all my subjects."

"You do from many, sire," Leon assured as they resumed walking.

But not all. Not from the ones he loved most, the ones he shoved away in disdain when they only meant to comfort and care for him. Lancelot and Gwen and... "Leon?"

"Sire?"

"Find Merlin. Tell him to come to my chamber."

"Yes, my lord." The knight broke off, heading another direction.

Arthur continued on to his chamber. When he arrived, he removed his belt and heavy chain mail, splashed water across his face, and basked in warm sunbeams in his socks and undershirt. If he would be better, as Leon said, he could start with an apology to the boy he'd unjustly targeted. He hadn't given Merlin a moment to explain, hadn't tried to understand. It wasn't Merlin's fault his father was a dragonlord. And as for the girl, he certainly didn't hold the moral high ground having saved a Druid boy himself. He'd make things right between them and finally reveal to Merlin the plans he had for the lad. He'd make up for his words and then some.

The door opened and a maid appeared with a plate of food. She left as fast as she came. He hated it, but he supposed it would be like this for a while, people unsure now how to handle him. He wondered if his arguing with Lancelot and Merlin had become castle gossip yet. What a perfect clotpole he'd made of himself!

Arthur picked at his food. Such a long night, and he wasn't even hungry. He swallowed a goblet of wine instead. A hard knock sounded. "Enter."

Leon opened the door wide, his face clouded. "Merlin's not in his room."

Arthur sighed. The boy had probably squirreled himself away somewhere, upset at how he'd been treated. "Look for him, then."

"I mean, my lord, he is gone."

* * *

The hairs on the back of Merlin's neck prickled and he bolted off his pallet, throwing a hand out.

"Careful, warlock," a voice warned.

Merlin dropped his hand. "You."

Nimueh stood across the clearing, early morning light streaming around her. She didn't wear red anymore, but blue and gold. He liked it.

"I saw you in the courtyard after Kilgharrah was wounded."

Merlin rubbed sleep out of his eyes. "You were there?"

"And your father."

"My father was there? Why?"

"We came to stop Morgause."

Merlin huffed and knelt down to roll up his pallet. "Well, you didn't. Uther's dead."

"Yes."

Merlin looked up at the smile in her voice to find it also on her mouth. "And you're happy," he accused.

"He's been judged unworthy of this world. Yes, I am happy."

"Well, now Arthur's going to hate magic more," Merlin snapped.

"And that's why you've left him. You're trying to break the bond on your own, aren't you? Without killing him?"

Merlin strapped his rolled pallet to his pack and flung the straps over his shoulders. "Why would you even think that?"

"Because he hates magic, which means he hates you," Nimueh said. Merlin tried to ignore the stabbing pain such a statement sent zinging through his heart. "But you do not have the will nor desire to kill him. Did you not understand what I told you? Either Arthur Pendragon dies or accepts you. There is no other way."

Merlin ground his jaw. "I know that."

"So come with me, Emrys. Perhaps together we can find a way to free you." She beckoned him with a raised hand.

"I don't need to be free," Merlin said. Heaven help him! He didn't _want_ to be free. "I'm not leaving Arthur."

"Then why are you so far from Camelot?"

"That's none of your concern." He began stomping back into the woods to the east, away from the man he had given everything to these last three years.

"You will waste yourself, Emrys!" Nimueh called after him. "Albion will fall!"

Merlin growled under his breath. "I don't intend to let it." _Unless Arthur makes me._ Where this all ended up was in the new king's hands now.

* * *

Arthur flung open the door to Gaius' chamber, striding across the room in four steps and climbing up the short stairs to Merlin's room. The door was open and Gaius stood inside, staring at the closed window where Nero tapped on the glass in distress. The physician turned, hands behind his back, blue eyes placid as ever.

"Sire?"

Arthur didn't reply. He scanned the room, taking in the sword missing from the wall, the medical bag that hung from a peg next to the desk likewise absent, even the book Morgana had gifted removed from its shelf. Arthur grasped the wooden knobs of the wardrobe, yanking them open. It was half-empty. Arthur backed up to the simple bed and sat down. A hole punched through his heart, leaving behind sudden, agonizing emptiness. "He _is_ gone."

"It appears so."

"I intended to make him my ward, Gaius," Arthur shouted, as if the statement somehow covered his offenses against the boy.

Gaius stepped towards him. "Did he know?"

"No," Arthur confessed, closing his eyes. "I'd considered it all these months, that when I became king... He'd have the life he deserved and not be beholden to servant hood any longer. To me."

"Freedom."

"I yelled at him. Accused him..." Arthur's voice faded. What excuse could he give?

"He said you knew things about him..."

"That could kill him," Arthur whispered, lifting his eyelids.

Gaius unclasped his hands from behind his back and held one out, revealing a rolled parchment secured with a waxy red seal indicating only one of royal rank was allowed to view the contents. "This was on his pillow."

Arthur took it from his hand.

"I will be in my chamber if you need me. Just remember, my lord, what has been done was always for your good."

Arthur watched Gaius cradled Nero and leave, his heart battering his ribs, his fingers trembling around the parchment. What would it say? What was he now to confront?

He settled into Merlin's bed, back against the wall, and pushed a thumb into the wax, peeling the seal. He took several deep breaths, unrolled the parchment, and read the first line.

 _You said I deceived you. You asked what else I haven't told you. This is everything._

* * *

Gwaine tightened his grip on his horse's reins when Camelot came into view. The girl in front of him pressed into him, and he whispered softly, "Don't fear. Arthur's fair."

Travel to Camelot had been slowed by the deluge the night before. They'd been forced to take shelter within a mile of the capital. Every time they stopped he hoped the girl might run, but she stayed, sticking close to him as if he were a guardian angel. Each moment in her presence had impressed upon him her innocence. Surely Arthur would see her the same as he and let her go.

Elyan glanced back from his horse in the lead. The moment their horses crossed into the lower town, the three men had pulled hoods over their heads. After all, they technically weren't even supposed to be in the kingdom, another fact that assured Gwaine Arthur would see reason. The prince didn't seem to be beholden to rules when they didn't make sense to him.

Luckily for the girl, King Uther was indisposed these days, and Arthur had taken up his father's duties. He would judge the girl and Gwaine meant to persuade him to do so privately. They needn't involve the council.

Percival cleared his throat behind him. "Something is wrong."

Gwaine looked back. "What?"

Percival's perceptive eyes scrutinized the citizens they passed. "This isn't what the towns should feel like."

Gwaine paid close attention as they navigated their way forwards. He recalled a bustling city full of chatty, boisterous souls, but now that Percival mentioned it, the people seemed quieter, subdued. There were more knights, too, paroling the streets. Several of them scowled at the travelers and by the time they reached the gate, word must have traveled because a contingent of six knights met them, blocking the way.

"What is your business, strangers?" one called out, stepping out in front, hand on his hilt.

"We have urgent business with Prince Arthur," Elyan announced.

"And that is?"

"For his ears only."

The knights glanced at one another. The one taking the lead drew his sword. "Dismount."

"This isn't good, Elyan," Gwaine murmured.

"Maybe they won't recognize us," Elyan muttered back, obeying the command.

"With our luck?" Gwaine asked as he followed suit, aiding Sefa, who clung to his arm as if he were her last hope.

The knights approached each of them, using swords to lift their hoods and examine their faces, then insisting on the removal of their cloaks to assess their weapons. Their bags were also rifled through. Finally, the knights withdrew and the leader spoke to Elyan.

"Where do you come from?"

"We've been managing de Bois lands for the prince."

The knight looked them up and down. Despite having access to the finery of a lordship's lifestyle, none of them had ever indulged. Gwaine felt stupid not having foreseen the advantage that dressing as lords would have bought them.

"Stay here," the knight ordered.

"They're edgy," Gwaine commented as he withdrew.

"Something's happened," Percival said.

Elyan nodded. "They're on alert."

After several minutes, the knight returned and nodded to them. "You may enter the courtyard. Wait at the..."

A man cried out and Gwaine rolled his eyes. Of course. Everything had gone way too easy. An older man careened towards them, swinging a sword and screaming, "Sefa! Sefa!"

The girl startled, eyes wide, as everyone beheld the man sprinting up the lane. "Father?"

Delvin rushed the group. To be honest, Gwaine had expected the father to interfere somewhere along the journey, but why did he have to do it now at the worst possible moment?

"Use it, girl!" Delvin called out to his daughter.

Sefa looked in horror from her father to the knights all brandishing swords and rushing to meet him.

"No!" She left Gwaine's side, throwing herself in front of the knights. She held out both hands and in one fell swoop the knights were sent tumbling backwards. Gwaine gawked. He'd thought the girl's ability to increase cow production her only skill.

Delvin reached Sefa, grabbing her hand. "Come on!" He pulled but she resisted.

"Da, no. I don't want to hide anymore."

"It will be your head."

"I..." Her eyes met Gwaine's. "I trust Prince Arthur."

Delvin made to grab her round the middle, but the knights had recovered and surrounded them. Gwaine's sword was ripped from his belt and he was thrust to his knees. In moments, all of them were kneeling, swords at their backs or throats.

"Another witch, come to kill our prince," the knight accused.

"Another?" Elyan questioned and was silenced with a sword point prodded into his back.

"It wasn't enough you had to assassinate our king, was it?"

Elyan looked to Gwaine who looked to Percival. The giant of a man had been right. Something very wrong had happened in Camelot.

* * *

Arthur dropped the parchment to the bed. He'd read it and reread it and read it again. The script was, without question, written in Merlin's hand, but it wasn't a letter as Arthur had expected. It was penned like the formal documents Merlin had read and copied a hundred times over, so stark and sterile that Arthur tangibly felt a great distance growing between him and the servant boy with every word.

 _I have broken the law against using magic on many occasions. My worst offense is against my mother. She has never used magic nor taught me spells. I alone am guilty. My offenses in the use of magic are as follows:_

Arthur had stared a long time at these words of introduction. The world ceased to function. His ears rang. His worse fears had been realized. Merlin knew magic. Admitted it. Proclaimed it was him alone who had utilized it. He might have decided the boy lied to protect his mother, but the document continued.

 _Offense: I toppled a statue onto Lord Meleagant and broke his arm. Defense: He was about to use a maidservant of the citadel._

 _Offense: I broke a tree branch to kill a boar attacking you. Defense: I meant to save your life._

 _Offense: I created a wind in Ealdor. I let you think it was my mother. Defense: I did it to save my mother and Will and his mother._

On and on the list went, Merlin accusing himself, then defending with the next stroke of his quill, confessing to killing bandits, encountering Nimueh, sensing the cursed token from Princess Myrine, defeating the troll and goblin. And those were only the major events. He admitted to smaller deceits along the way, some only lies of omission, not revealing Nero had truly seen him as the sorcerer or that Agravaine had been correct all along that Arthur had a sorcerer as a trusted aid.

Trusted? Arthur couldn't take his eyes off the list. These made him a naive fool and a liar himself! He'd supported Merlin against Aredian, argued with Agravaine over the boy, sent him to his grave partially to protect his scribe unjustly accused.

But it was the last two paragraphs that tormented Arthur the most.

 _I used magic. I lied. I'm sorry. I did it because I had to. I haven't studied it or sought it out. I've had it since I was born. I should have told you. Now it's too late._

 _I'm going to Ealdor to visit my mother one last time. I will return in a week to accept whatever judgment you deem fair. If I may be afforded one concession, I beg you to allow me a private audience. There is more to say that I cannot write. Perhaps I will be allowed this one request before sentence is carried out?_

With that, the document ended, as if Merlin stood there himself, round blue eyes pleading. The list was long, the lies numerous, ringing with stark truths: Merlin had broken the law. Merlin had lied. Merlin must die.

Arthur picked up the parchment, wobbling to the door and shakily wandering down the steps. Gaius sat at his dining table. Arthur paced over to him, thrusting the parchment under his nose. "Take it."

Gaius accepted the document, eyes darting back and forth as he read. Arthur slumped onto the bench across from him. When the physician finally looked up, Arthur stared back. "How much did you know?"

Gaius raised his chin. "All of it, my lord."

"All..." Arthur gaped in disbelief.

"Except he left out something. He saved me from a great hurt the first day he arrived. I tripped down the stairs and he prevented my fall."

"You...on the...first day?"

"He sat at the top of those steps," Gaius pointed towards Merlin's room, "crying and begging me not to kill him." Gaius stood and Arthur followed him with his stunned gaze. "So blame me, my lord. He was my responsibility. I knew and I did not stop him from using magic. Punish me in his place."

Arthur stared for a few more seconds, then shook his head and waved his hand at the physician. "Sit down, Gaius." The elderly man sank back onto the bench at his table. "I'm not going to haul Camelot's most respected elder to a block."

"And Merlin?"

Arthur didn't reply, looking down at the table.

"Imagine what it took for him to come here, to a place where his very existence could be rewarded with death."

Arthur slammed a fist onto the table, rattling a bowl in front of him so liquid sloshed over its edge. "Exactly. Why come at all? Why risk it? Foolish idiot!" His heart warred within him, because as much as Merlin deserved to suffer for his wrong according to the law, his actions demonstrated a loyalty that went even deeper than Arthur had realized. Arthur set an elbow on the table and leaned his head into it. Curse the boy! He'd lost his father, the woman he'd always considered a sister, the man who had vowed to follow him so many years ago, the maid he'd loved. Now he had to lose the one who had been closest of all, a brother in heart if not in name?

"Have you eaten?"

Arthur inclined his head to look at Gaius, surprised by the question, but shook his head.

"You had a long night." Gaius pointed at the bowl of simple broth. "It isn't much, but perhaps you would humor an old man."

Arthur looked down. His stomach rumbled. He picked up the spoon next to the bowl, dipped it in, then swallowed. With that one bite, his hunger was ignited and in no time he had downed it all.

"More?" Gaius asked quietly across the way, his own bowl not half-finished.

Arthur nodded. Gaius stood, picking up his bowl and moving to the pot over the fire. The warmth of the room, the kindness of the offered soup, the old man's tender ways, all of it overcame Arthur in an instant. He folded his arms along the table and nestled his forehead into them, pushing back more blasted tears trying to escape. Why did he ever have to be king? Why did his father dare bring him into existence at all? He lamented he ever had to face the day he stood in judgment on a boy sorcerer whose actions, though good in intent, were treason of the highest order.

The bowl thunked against the table top as Gaius set it down, and the man's hand rested on the crown of his head, much like it had after tending the wounds from his father's commanded flogging. Arthur lost his battle, but his tears fell without shame. He'd parroted his father's words to his knights many years ago, claiming no man was worth tears. He'd been wrong.

The door creaked open and a distressed voice spoke into the room. "I'm...sorry to disturb you, my lord."

Arthur quickly wiped at his eyes and reluctantly stood, losing the haven of the physician's kind touch to turn to Sir Leon. "What is it?"

"You are needed. There's been a disturbance. Four men and a girl have been arrested."

Arthur sighed in irritation. Couldn't he be given one day to recover? Did fate have to keep stealing his every waking moment? "What did they do?"

"I'm not certain, but three of them are Elyan and Gwaine and Percival."

Arthur let his head fall back to roll his eyes at the ceiling. Great. Just great.

* * *

Despite his raging emotions, Arthur thought clearly enough to stop by his chamber and throw on an appropriate jacket and his belt and dagger. If he had to make any kind of judgment appearing kingly would encourage his councilors to accept his decision without argument. By the time he reached the king's council chamber, the high-backed seat that served as a throne had been pulled into place and the four accused awaited his arrival on their knees before it, as well as the council, who stood to the sides. He steeled himself, puffed out his chest, and pushed all turmoil to the back of his mind, assuming the air of the king he purportedly was.

Arthur marched to the chair and looked on the accused. Gwaine met his eyes with a tired, but cocky smile. Arthur stopped himself from stepping over to the man and slapping him upside the head. This was no time for Gwaine's tendency towards irreverence. Percival nodded at him dispassionately; Elyan's gaze begged an apology. The other two were unknown to him, a grey bearded man and a girl with a kerchief around her hair, both agrarian serfs by their appearance.

"What are these accused of?"

A knight stepped forward, one who had been in the hall this morning after his vigil, Sir Lucan. "The girl is a witch. She and her father attacked us."

"You were trying to kill her father!" Gwaine objected and received a hearty shove in the back from the guard behind him.

Arthur shot Gwaine a look that proclaimed, _Keep your infernal trap shut!_ Out loud he asked, "Can you explain in more detail?"

"Yes, my lord," Sir Lucan acquiesced. "These four," he pointed out Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, and the girl whose head remained bowed, "arrived at the gate, claiming to need an urgent audience with the king. We searched them. Then this man," he indicated the older peasant, "attacked us with a sword and the girl used magic against us."

Arthur glanced at the sides of the room. Several of the councilors were mumbling to each other. He knew exactly what concerned them. He pointed at the three men who had been secretly running de Bois lands. "Rise." Each came to a stand and Arthur looked pointedly at his councilors. "You may recall these three men saved the king and myself at great peril many months ago when Camelot was invaded by a troll." The councilors nodded amongst themselves, confirming they had recognized the men. "Since that time, they uncovered a traitor with designs to take the throne." Murmuring and gasps of surprise. "The traitor's identity was not announced to preserve his memory. Now I reveal to you, he was none other than my uncle, Agravaine de Bois. I dealt with him as his crime deserved."

More raised eyebrows, but many nods. Apparently Agravaine's actions didn't shock his council.

"As such, I order an immediate pardon for these three men. They have been loyal to the crown and have earned a reward. This means they may freely speak in this court without condemnation." Arthur sent another warning glance at Gwaine before addressing Elyan. "Explain the reason for your coming."

Elyan quietly cleared his throat. "My lord, while safeguarding your lands, this girl was accused of the use of magic. We thought such a charge serious enough for your personal attention."

Arthur turned to his chair, letting his face fall. Magic everywhere, all the time, dogging his steps and snapping at his heels like a mangy cur that wouldn't let go. When he sat down, he'd thrown on the mask of authority he'd developed over the years. "Who is this man?"

"Her father," Elyan said. "He was trying to protect her."

"Sire, I know this man." Arthur looked to Lord Arnott, who had stepped forward. "He tries to hide himself behind a beard and age, but he is unmistakable. He was a member of our council at the beginning of your father's reign. He disagreed with the king's edicts. He was to be arrested and fled. He is a traitor of the highest order."

 _How long am I to deal with your messes, father?_ Arthur despaired inwardly. He looked to the man. "Is this true?"

"Yes, sire. I am Lord Ruadan. And I did avoid my arrest. But please, my daughter is not a danger to anyone." He clasped his hands together, imploring. "She is innocent."

"She attacked us!" Sir Lucan contradicted.

"Only to stop harm coming to me for my foolishness! Please, I beg you, my lord. Let her fault be on me."

The man's plea was a shadow of Gaius' not fifteen minutes before, offering himself as Merlin's stand in. "Are there witnesses to any of her crimes besides inhibiting my knights?" he asked, hoping since he saw none, the three men he'd entrusted his uncle's lands to had been smart enough to leave them behind.

Elyan answered softly. "We didn't need any. She admitted to using magic."

Gwaine had lost patience. "She increased her cow's milk yield!" He laughed, a scathing sound in the quiet room. "Because they were starving. Is she to be killed for that?" Gwaine's eyes skewered Arthur, and the new king recalled once asking the man what he thought of magic and Gwaine, in his practical nature, had argued you took advantage of whatever you could to make it in this world.

Arthur approached the girl and crouched to her level. "What do _you_ have to say?"

The girl didn't look up, but spoke in a small voice. "I'm sorry." Her chin trembled. '"I know I shouldn't have."

Arthur backed away from her, grimacing. This girl in front of him could very well have been Merlin, might be him in a week. She had broken the law, was without doubt guilty, and he should pass sentence here and now. He scanned the councilors eagerly awaiting his first act as king. They would judge by his next actions the tone of his reign, know if he had committed to law or to himself.

Arthur's heart raced. He was trapped, a fox holed up in a bush surrounded on all sides by yipping hounds. Then he caught Sir Leon's fixed gaze. The elder knight spoke to him without words as he had years ago at his first knight's test― _Be brave. Be creative. Be daring._

Arthur let his eyes fall to the girl. "By our law, she is guilty."

Gwaine yelled and his hand went to his sword.

"Restrain him!" Arthur commanded.

Three guards grabbed a hold of the man and pushed him to his knees.

Arthur unsheathed his dagger. He walked deliberately to Lord Arnott and held it out. "Kill her."

Several gasps followed his order. Sir Arnott glanced at the weapon, but didn't reach for it. "Sire... my lord... There should be a public―"

"She has committed the crime. Let us not waste time. Kill her."

The lord did nothing. Arthur turned to another councilor. "Since Lord Arnott is reluctant to enact sentence, then you do it." The councilor opened his mouth and shut it. "Who will carry out the sentence?" Arthur called aloud, circling the room, holding out the dagger. None stepped forward. He came back to his throne. "You expect me to do what you will not do yourselves. And why not? Could it be that what this girl has done is not equal to death? Is saving herself from starvation and her father's life wicked?" Arthur returned the dagger to its sheath. "If you will not, then this is not the will of my people, and I will not either."

"B-but, you cannot let her go," Lord Arnott stammered.

"But I will not judge her rashly, either. Sir Leon."

The man strode to him, his chest puffed out in pride. "My liege."

"Take this girl and her father to the first cell. No one is to see them but these men under supervision." He indicated Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine. "This court is dismissed." Elyan stepped towards him, but Arthur waved him away. Now was not the time.

He could hardly wait until the room was empty and he could breathe again. He fell into his chair, hissing with relief. His action had been a gamble. He hadn't known what he would have done if Arnott had snatched up the dagger and gone for the girl. _I'll never be you, father. I can't do to our people the things you did._

Arthur suddenly stood, racing for the doors. He grabbed the first servant passing by, scaring the wits out of the man who about dropped the bucket he was hauling. "Go to the stables. Tell the groom to have my horse ready in an hour's time."

"Y-yes, my king."

Arthur hastened towards his chambers. He had to stop someone returning to Camelot before it was too late.


	82. Frayed

**Author's Note:** It occurred to me I hadn't made it clear this story is solidly into the next arc. The previous story arc ended with Uther's death and then slid right into the next one about Merlin's revelation. Thanks to all still reading and following!

* * *

 _Dank moisture and stale air choked Arthur's nostrils as he descended into darkness broken only by torches positioned at regular intervals. A distant cry quickened his pace. Vertical iron bars enclosing a prison cell came into view, two figures inside, one cowering on his knees and the other flexing a thin cord. Why hadn't he been told this was to be done in secret? The hulking figure backhanded the gaunt form on the floor before slinging the cord over the captive's head and pulling it taut._

 _Arthur reached the cell door, yanking, but it didn't budge. "Stop!" He was ignored. The garotte tightened and twisted, causing its victim to writhe. In his agony, the prisoner flipped towards Arthur and the prince rattled the cell door, screaming. Merlin's guileless eyes bulged._

 _"This is the way it must be," the executioner growled. Horrified, Arthur locked eyes with him, meeting the deranged glare of his father..._

Arthur startled awake, pouring sweat in the cool morning. He blinked up at the tree branch above dripping dew onto his thick blanket and shivered, more from the dream than the chill. His sorry state, exhausted, worn out, weighed on him. He'd been in tip top form before everything came crashing down around him. Now he could hardly close his eyes without falling into nightmares.

The day before it had been memories of Morgana and then a knife in her hand as she raged in Camelot's courtyard. In the afternoon, Lancelot, frantically slashing through a maze of vines with no escape. And now...Merlin.

Arthur forced his aching body upright, rolling his shoulders and scanning his simple camp―a dead fire, his knapsack, and a tethered horse. In all his years, he'd never ventured beyond the capital's lands alone, inhibited by his father's restrictions. He supposed he'd been an idiot to take off without a knight or two, but he'd resisted tag-alongs on such a sensitive journey. He'd left Leon his seal, granting the man permission to act in his stead but instructions to say nothing during his absence and to keep his rooms locked. Then he'd sneaked away without letting the first knight assign him protectors. At least he was thoughtful enough to leave a note promising to appear for the coronation.

Arthur rose, hurrying to pack up and continue towards Ealdor. The closer he traveled to the small village, the more his stomach knotted. He still wasn't sure what to say. When he'd taken off, he'd only thought to carry a warning―"Don't come back."

Before mounting, he reviewed a folded parchment, skimming its contents once more, essentially Merlin's confession. If the boy returned and these actions saw the light, arrest and trial and accusations of treason would follow. No matter Merlin's defenses, he'd lied to the prince and king and broken the law a dozen times over. Arthur had been able to forestall the punishment of the girl brought for his judgment, but what she had done was pittance compared to Merlin. His servant boy's magic had injured a noble, aided condemned prisoners, killed. He wasn't naive enough to think councilors like Arnott wouldn't take up a dagger this time and run Merlin through.

Arthur stuffed the parchment into his saddle bag, withdrew a breakfast of dried meat and berries, and swung up into the saddle. Ducking under low hanging leaves, he directed Brenner towards the road, his most recent nightmare coming alive in his thoughts. He had dreamed about Merlin dying before when the boy had inquired if he would hate him if he'd learned magic. Arthur had assumed the question hypothetical, but it had been all too real.

As he maneuvered onto the cleared woodland path, all the times he'd lectured Merlin on magic's destruction, evil, and corruption passed through his mind, even the very first day Merlin had arrived in Camelot. The boy had seen―well, heard―his first execution. He'd cried, Arthur recalled. And he had flicked away his tears, explaining casually that sorcerers had to die.

Arthur cringed, hands tightening on Brenner's reins, wanting to punch a tree. The horse whinnied in protest and Arthur loosened his grip. Every time he'd ranted against magic, Merlin had heard condemnation, that he would be hated, that he was corrupt, that he was untrustworthy, that he was evil. Every. Damn. Time.

Arthur pressed his heels into Brenner's sides, pushing the mount into a gallop, wind ripping through his blond locks, barreling towards Ealdor.

* * *

Thudding hoof-beats pounded down the path behind Merlin. He leaped off the road, hurtling behind a thick tree, and curling inward. The pulse in his neck throbbed in time with his heaving lungs, drumming his ribs against his knees as a horse sped past. He waited with bated breath until the hooves faded into the distance. It had sounded like a lone rider instead of a patrol, but he couldn't be too careful.

He left his hiding place and ambled forward, keeping to the trees. Better skirt the path for now. Lancelot had once insisted Arthur wouldn't kill him if he found out about his magic. He hadn't thought so either, but he couldn't banish the fear that had jolted through him when Arthur had shook him and yelled and demanded to know the truth. Arthur might not hate him enough to abandon him to the stake or the block, but send patrols after him to drag him back before he got to Ealdor? Yeah. He'd believe that.

Merlin's breath hitched. And then what? Exile would be too good for him. He'd made the man a liar. Shown him up as a naive fool. Broken numerous laws. His only hope lay in Arthur perhaps delaying sentence long enough for him to explain, to tell him things that wouldn't make sense in written form. But even then, Arthur would be forced to choose between Camelot and his scribe, and Merlin knew who would win. Arthur's duty to his people far exceeded any relationship they'd ever had.

Merlin peered through the woods, imaging his home village miles distant. Ealdor, a place that had hemmed him in and dampened his purpose, where he'd dreamed of The Dragon Man. The closer he got to his home village, the more he wished he'd ignored Kilgharrah's voice. Then he never would have gotten tangled up with Arthur Pendragon. Never would have suffered losing he who had been mentor and friend and brother.

He hiked faster. All he desired was home. His mother's arms and comfort and peace for as many days as they could last.

* * *

Gwen wrung her hands as she paced before Gaius' chamber door. She'd hidden herself away for almost two days, unmissed since no one had thought to assign her new duties now that neither of her previous charges required her services. Her father had eventually sought her out, but she'd begged off, claiming she was tired and grieved and coveted the seclusion of her citadel room. Today, she'd forced herself to emerge, desperate to quell her incessant fretting. Sooner or later, someone would discover her secretly healed arm and demand an explanation, and she couldn't tell the truth without endangering a dear friend.

Gwen stilled, rapping lightly on Gaius' door.

"Enter," the physician's voice called.

The maidservant cracked the door and slid inside, shutting it softly and leaning back against it. "Gaius! I woke you."

The older man, still in his nightclothes, perched on the edge of his cot. "No apology is necessary. I've had long nights recently and slept too heavily."

She glanced at the closed door atop a small flight of steps across the way. "Is Merlin here?"

"He isn't."

"Arthur needed him?"

A wry laugh escaped Gaius' lips. "He needs him, yes. And I have hope he will accept his need."

She guessed Gaius referred to Arthur accusing Merlin of lying to him. "Arthur wasn't kind to him, I know, but..."

Gaius' right eyebrow lifted. "But?"

Gwen bit her lip, then shook her head. "Nothing." She turned to exit, but Gaius stalled her.

"Gwen."

She didn't turn. "Yes?"

"Your arm."

She spun around, guiltily dropping her right arm and cursing herself for forgetting to play the part of a cripple. "I thought maybe you could tell me...it seems to be getting better."

Gaius shuffled over to her, lifting her arm and pushing up her sleeve. His eyebrows met his hairline in surprise. "The color has returned and it's warm. Move your fingers."

She obeyed. The stiffness had dissolved the more she used it. She had practiced in her room, first holding a goblet, then pouring wine from a pitcher, and finally drinking her fill.

"You feel this?" Gaius asked, poking and prodding along her arm.

"I do."

He looked up. "How did it heal?"

Gwen shook her head. "I don't know."

Gaius released his grip, and she curled the cured appendage into her chest. "It was Merlin, wasn't it?"

"Merlin? No. He wouldn't know how to fix it."

"He has magic, Gwen."

She gasped. "So you know."

"Yes." Gaius smiled gently at her. "And Merlin couldn't leave without doing what he could for you."

"Leave?"

Gaius sighed. "He's gone to Ealdor for a time. To see his mother."

Gwen closed her eyes. "That boy. Always getting into trouble. Magic. Of all things." She opened her lids and pinned Gaius with her gaze. "Did Hunith teach him?"

Gaius gestured to his table, and she sank into a seat as he uncovered a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese on a sideboard. "Join me for breakfast and I'll tell you what I can."

* * *

A shadowy corner in the middle town's tavern provided a quiet moment to think for its troubled occupier. Lancelot sipped at a fine brew and picked at a meal. Rumor had circulated a tantalizing tale of another sorceress in Camelot, this time at the gates to the citadel. Some said Arthur executed her on the spot, others that he told councilors to do it, but most that he'd thrown her in a cell to deal with her after his coronation. Lancelot wished he were free to stride openly into the citadel to demand the true story, but if Arthur had maintained his foul mood, he could easily find himself in a world of hurt. For years he'd dreamed of the day Arthur Pendragon would take the throne and he could serve a king worth following...and it turned out the man he'd sworn allegiance to had shown himself exactly like his father.

Lancelot looked up in annoyance when a cloaked man intruded on his solitude, commandeering the chair across from him and addressing him softly. "Share an ale, friend?"

The interloper pulled back his hood far enough for Lancelot to get a good look at him. "Aglain! What are you doing here?" Lancelot glanced at the few patrons around the room to assure the Druid hadn't garnered attention. "You shouldn't have come into town."

"I needed information."

"From me?"

"Reports of the king's death have reached us. I must know how he was killed."

Lancelot sighed. "You'll not like it."

"Sorcery?"

"Yes. Of the worst kind. Morgause returned."

"Hm. We hadn't heard of her until she kidnapped your lady,"―Lancelot winced at the description of the woman he loved―"but I made inquiries. Some had heard of a witch seeking out magic wielders to rebuild the sisterhood of the high priestesses."

"She came with unearthly knights. Clothed in black, masked."

Aglain narrowed his eyes.

"I think they were undead. Morgana's blood animated them?"

Aglain sucked in a sharp breath. "Knights of Medhir."

"Who?"

"Medhir was a great sorceress and seer. We still tell tales of her, but her heart turned dark. She enslaved seven men who voluntarily gave themselves to her in exchange for power. They were bound with a gift of blood. Many believed another seer's blood might bring them to life once more."

"So these knights, they were bound to Morgana?"

"It's possible."

Lancelot's gut roiled. "I didn't think her capable of turning on us."

"If she has been in the hands of a witch, she may have been persuaded."

"But she cut herself. Slowed them down," Lancelot spoke loudly in defense.

"Then...she was a tool only?"

Lancelot carded fingers through his hair. "I don't know. She told Arthur the king did so much evil, seemed to think he deserved it, but then, she worked against Morgause." Lancelot lowered his hand, fist clenched, jaw tight.

"It could be she wanted the king dead, but not his son," Aglain suggested.

Lancelot closed his eyes, resisting the very thought he'd entertained spoken aloud. "Morgause is her sister." He opened his eyes to find Aglain staring at him.

"Where is Morgana now?"

"She left with her." Gods, it all made sense now! That night they had shared, alone in a guest room, Morgana told him many things but left out the most important of all―that Morgause was her sister. Hadn't he sensed evasiveness to some of his questions? But he'd chalked that up to the trauma of five months kidnapped.

"I'm sorry."

The compassion in Aglain's tone threatened to undo him and he blinked rapidly to control himself, then changed the subject. "What of your people? What do they make of Uther's passing?"

"Relief, for the most part." Aglain settled back in his seat. "But unease as well. None are certain how the new king will rule."

Lancelot rubbed at his chin. "I wish I could tell you all was well."

"Your faith in Prince Arthur has been shaken." The statement, rather than question, hit too close to the mark.

"I don't know what to think about anything anymore." Dare he search for Morgana once more, focus on turning her back to soothe his breaking heart? Or should he remain near for Arthur's sake, attempt to stop his friend becoming his father who had killed and maimed out of anger and fear?

"Wait is my counsel. Until you know more."

Lancelot grimaced. Wait. Like Aglain was right now. Gather information, keep your ears open, and pray things weren't as bad as they seemed.

* * *

The second evening after her life had been forever altered, Morgana found herself curled up on a bedroll, wrapped in a blanket, back to Morgause and her devotees. Morgause's little band had been treating the witch and Mordred and _her_ as glorious saviors. Morgause relished the fawning, Mordred accepted it silently, her stomach turned. Morgause and Mordred had gained; she had lost what had been most precious to her―Gwen's friendship, Arthur's trust, Merlin's adoration, Lancelot's love. Nothing had been left for her, not even her memories, now ravaged by knowledge of Uther's violations, his betrayals and scandals.

"Do your Druids know who you are?" Morgause's hoarse whisper caught Morgana's ear and she recognized Mordred replying.

"No."

"Don't tell them. You'll need more training if you are to be of any use. There must be _some_ power in you somewhere. Oh don't look prickled. You know as well as I how little you did for us."

"I got Morgana to leave, didn't I?"

Morgause harrumphed. "You are lucky she's devoted to you."

"Well, it worked."

"Well enough."

Footfalls shuffled away. Morgana twisted around to see Mordred alone not far from her. "What did you mean?"

Mordred looked at her in surprise, then scuttled close and drew one knee up under his chin to gaze on her. ''I thought you were asleep."

"You got me to leave what?"

"The Labyrinth."

"That was my idea."

"I told Morgause."

Morgana bolted upright. "You _told_ her?"

"I had to. You didn't understand."

"But...that day, sneaking into Morgause's room..."

"She knew we were coming." Mordred laughed. "You didn't think she'd be so easy to trick, did you?"

No, but apparently _she_ was.

"Two were needed to leave, so she said to let you do what you wanted and I should go with you."

Morgana shook her head in disbelief.

"She told me the truth," Mordred explained. "Uther was your father and he killed the man you thought was your father. She said you had to see it for yourself."

"Did you know what Morgause had planned for Camelot, too?"

Mordred nodded.

"I can't believe...you knew all along."

"Uther killed my mother," Mordred reminded her. "I watched his knights...they..."

Morgana stretched out an arm to touch his shoulder.

"They cut her down and gutted her." Mordred's eyes glistened with rare tears. "I tried to do something, any spell, something... They kept ripping her apart and... it just happened. The one knight choking to death...and I ran. I left her alone."

Morgana pulled the boy into her, unmindful of her bodice wetting with his tears.

"And Uther tortured your father," Mordred mumbled against her. "He had to die. He _had_ to."

The memory of Uther threatening her mother, demanding she kill the baby she carried to hide his adultery, came back to her and rage kindled inside once again. He would have seen her dead before she drew breath. She'd thought Uther had provided for her out of love for his friend, but his supposed care had been a feeble atonement for wishing an infant's demise and torturing Gorlois to death. That she was _his_ meant nothing to him. How many times had she heard him worry over Arthur, emphasizing the prince was his _only_ child? Uther had been a lying cheat and a filthy murderer.

Morgana's hardened gaze flicked to the surrounding wood and she froze. A curly haired, grey bearded man stood several meters in, eyes fixed on her, hand raised, beckoning. Mordred shifted in her grasp and looked up at her. "What is it?"

"That man." She glanced at Mordred.

"What man?"

She looked up. "Him..." Her speech faltered. He was gone.

"Who?"

"I..." She scanned the trees. He hadn't been one of Morgause's group. Frantically, she checked her wrist. The vision inhibiting bracelet was still there.

"Morgana?"

She rubbed Mordred's back. "Never mind." The boy snuggled against her. She tightened her hold on him, staring uneasily into the shadowy wood.

* * *

Arthur reined in Brenner, considering the small village nestled below. In three years, nothing had changed and everything had changed. The homes still reflected the life of the hardworking poor, weathered by time and age, but no eager young boy occupied the house on the edge, desperate for his attention and presence.

As Brenner plodded down the hill to the village, Arthur fretted over his coming encounter with the servant he'd once trusted. Maybe all he need do was mutter a gruff, "Don't ever come back or we'll both regret it," but then, he could have sent a messenger for that. No, there were questions within him of "Who are you?" and "How can you possibly have been born with magic?" and "Why did you come with me?" And the most glaring of all, "What do you need to say you couldn't write?" He wanted to know and he didn't want to know, fearing anything Merlin might say would stir up the toxic concoction of betrayal and guilt and dread already roiling in his gut.

Arthur reached the house on the outskirts. No one seemed about. Perhaps Hunith spent the morning in the fields and maybe Merlin had joined her. He secured Brenner's reins to the low garden railing, then knocked at the door slightly ajar. "Hello?"

No answer. He pushed the door wider and found the one room deserted. He entered, pacing to the table, skimming the humble dwelling. The smoke ridden odor threw him back to the only other time he'd been here, when everything had felt so right seeing Merlin again and then had gone so wrong when Hunith had used magic. But it hadn't been her. He'd accused the wrong person, then ridden away with a sorcerer at his back and transported magic straight into the heart of Camelot.

He clenched a fist as he sat down to wait at the small table. _Why didn't you tell me, Merlin? You should have._

 _Why would he tell?_ His inner voice argued back. _So you could kill him?_

 _I didn't kill his mother. I wouldn't have killed him._

 _Left him, then. Broken his sensitive nature._

And hated Merlin for the rest of his life. Yeah, that was probably the long and short of it. He'd have despised the child who had tricked him so thoroughly. But if Merlin's confession was honest, all his tricks had been duly justified. Several events listed in the parchment passed through Arthur's mind again.

Merlin had broken a tree branch to stop a boar about to kill him. Arthur scrubbed at his hair in agitation. And he'd intended to thrash the boy for disobedience. Gods. He would have struck the lad for saving him! Even worse, he guaranteed Merlin would have just taken it. Because he'd let himself be put in the stocks, hadn't he? _Another of my blunders_ , Arthur grumbled to himself, even if he'd been under an enchantment.

He recalled Merlin sneaking in to visit him after the flogging, bringing him the draft his father wouldn't allow. The boy had lamented he hadn't been there to stop the punishment, and when Arthur had quipped that Merlin would have offered to take his place, the boy didn't laugh or smile, implying the truth of Arthur's remark. And he would have, wouldn't he? Let the lash tear him to shreds so his master remained unblemished. Because he'd even said he'd submit to a flogging after the bastet incident if that's what it took to smooth things out between the prince and the king.

Arthur stood up to pace. What kind of sorcerer did those things, controlling his power and willingly letting himself be humiliated? Merlin, that's who. Merlin, who cleaned out dank prison cells with a grin on his face. Merlin, who jested with him and followed him everywhere, throwing himself into danger over and over again. Merlin, who would have been strapped to a stake in seconds if his father had learned the truth.

Hesitant footfalls inside the door and an intake of breath halted Arthur's restless steps. He beheld Hunith's fear-filled eyes. "Sire?"

"Hunith." He nodded his head. No Merlin with her.

"There's only one horse outside," she whispered.

"Yes. Eh, where's―"

"He's dead, isn't he?"

"Merlin? No, he's not... He isn't here?"

Hunith tilted her head and set the basket she carried on a stool next to the door. "No. What has happened?" He stared at the terrified woman, remembering the barely concealed contempt she'd sent his way on his last visit. He'd thought because she was a sorceress and had been disturbed Merlin heard of magic's evil nature from him. But she'd only been a mother worried for her son in the hands of a man who had killed magic wielders.

"There was an incident," Arthur explained.

"Is Merlin hurt?"

"No, but my father's dead."

"Oh. Oh, I'm sorry." She didn't really sound it. He didn't blame her. In her mind, he supposed that made Merlin safer. "Merlin?"

"He said he was coming here."

"He hasn't." Now she seemed confused. Then it hit him. He'd arrived before the boy. Great. He'd have to spend how long waiting for him?

"I guess I made it here first."

"Let me get you something to drink." She walked across the room, nervously readjusting her headscarf, and pouring a cup of milk from a jug. She returned and he took the drink, though he hadn't really needed it. He settled in at the table again. Hunith grabbed a cloth and started sewing in a chair apart, avoiding his gaze.

He swallowed the creamy liquid. This was awkward. She must be thinking he still assumed her corrupted, and he hated that he'd impugned an innocent woman.

Some time passed as Arthur wrestled burning questions. When did you realize Merlin had magic? Did you encourage it or tell him to ignore it? Why did you let him come back to Camelot with me? It was too dangerous. What made you think you could trust me with your son?

Instead, he blurted out a different question. "How did you meet Merlin's father?"

Hunith's head rose slowly and she considered him warily. "Erm..."

"He was a dragonlord."

The sewing in her hands tumbled into her lap. "H-how do you know that?"

"A dragon showed up in Camelot. Merlin knew it. Told me his father is a dragonlord."

"What else did he tell you?" Her voice was hushed, her fear palpable.

Arthur ignored the inquiry. " _Is_ his father a dragonlord?"

Hunith nodded. "He fled here after..."

"After my father killed the rest of them?"

"My lord, I..." She cut off, picking up her sewing cloth and fumbling with the needle.

"I'm not angry at Merlin for his father."

"You've met Balinor." Her barely audible statement quavered and he caught her meaning.

"I'm not going to seek him out," he assured.

Hunith stopped fiddling with the cloth, balling it in her hands. "Balinor was the last of them. He meant to make peace but King Uther had other designs."

Arthur narrowed his eyes in thought. Balinor had been the last of them? But the last dragonlord had been paraded through the streets of Camelot after being beaten almost unrecognizable. His father had forced him to look upon the man. He was to have been burned, but warning bells had announced the dragonlord's cell found empty. Arthur's knuckles pressed against his lips as more puzzle pieces fell into place. It was Merlin's father who'd knelt at his feet that day. No wonder the man had tried to take back his son, determined to keep Merlin away from Uther and his heir.

"My father didn't make peace. He tortured him." Arthur leaned back, willing away the stabbing pain in his chest and counting the years backwards. "You were with child."

"Yes." Her voice was small.

"And Balinor left you after my father pursued him."

"Yes."

"Merlin grew up without his father because of _my_ father." He shook his head, reliving his own torment at not having a mother. "I'm sorry."

Hunith stared, stunned.

Arthur sucked in a deep breath. "I made a mistake. I accused you of magic use. You never used it. Merlin did."

Hunith's hands wrung the sewing cloth. "You're going to arrest him."

"I'm not in Camelot. I can't."

"Kings don't respect borders." She stood up, backing away from the table.

Arthur rose, holding his hands up, palms outward in a nonthreatening gesture. "I do. I'm not going to take Merlin back to Camelot, I swear it. Please sit." She stayed where she was and Arthur sighed. "I'm going to tell Merlin to stay as far away from Camelot as he can."

* * *

A rhythmic tapping echoed in a hollow chamber, bouncing off murals meticulously crafted hundreds of years before. The space had once bustled with activity, the voices of both man and beast testament to the unique bond all shared. Presently, the bluish glow emanating from the walls spilled into a sparse, cavernous, pillared hall, revealing the absence of all but three souls. Two of these had yet to see the light of day, sheltered in their hardy shells until the time came for their calling forth. The third was the source of the noise, a man with knotted brow pounding a hammer onto a chisel.

For quite some time he worked. Chipped stone pattered onto the polished floor until the hammer was set aside and the chisel scraped away dust, fine-tuning the man's work. He ignored the ache in his hand, doggedly perfecting his carving, a last act to assure the one he honored would never be forgotten.

Finally, he brushed his hand over the scripted word, a foreign one to most, though he knew its language intimately. He stepped back, surveying several columns of names that had been etched into the stone wall. The last seven had been carved by his hand. He called them aloud, wishing that speaking them might change their fate.

"Rirdunth. Fryrvin. Laervan. Femmet. Eorios. Zayndru." He paused when he reached the name freshly hewn. "Kilgharrah."

Balinor closed his eyes, offering up a protracted silence for the grievous loss. When he opened them, his eyes burned gold and the script blazed, fire zipping from one end to the other, sealing it forever into the wall. He lay his hand over the name. "Old friend. How I will miss you."

"Are all of them dead?" A dark haired girl stepped up next to him as he nodded, craning her head back to peer up at the names. "Were they all killed?"

"No." Balinor pulled his hand back to his side and retrieved the hammer from the floor. "Most died naturally. Though these," he pointed to the last six before the most recent addition, "are on Uther's hands."

Freya stared at the last name and a tear appeared at the corner of one eye. She pressed a finger to it. "Uther didn't kill him. He chose to die."

"He knew it had to happen."

"Knew?"

"A Druid seer prophesied Uther's reign would end when the last dragon died. He gave himself when he felt the time was right."

"Was it right?"

"I'm not sure, but Kilgharrah saw more in the future than I think he ever revealed. We must trust he did what he thought best for all."

Freya shook her head. "I still don't understand it."

Balinor sighed. "Honestly, neither do I." He smiled gently at her. "Dragonlords may have more knowledge than most about dragons, but the beasts have never given up all their secrets." He moved from the back wall of the Dragon Sanctuary to two stone pedestals. "These will need us more than ever."

Freya strode up to them, placing a hand on each egg secured atop a pedestal. Her expression tightened and she frowned. "They're restless."

"They know their time comes."

"When?"

Balinor tightened his grip on the chisel and hammer. He'd accepted his son as Emrys, but Merlin would be more than the salvation of Albion. He would be the safeguard of the dragons' legacy. "Soon. But I'll need Merlin."

"He's going to Ealdor," Freya spoke softly. "To visit Hunith and he told me to wait to tell you."

"Tell me what?" Balinor asked.

She removed her hands from the eggs. "I promised not to go with him. He made me," she vehemently insisted.

"What did he want you to tell me?"

"He loves you and he's sorry. He's told Arthur he has magic."

" _Now_?" When the prince had just lost his father to _magic_? Balinor ran for the Sanctuary entrance.

"He said to trust him!" Freya called after him.

Trust his son's faith in a Pendragon not to target magic after Uther's demise? Not likely.

* * *

Merlin crested the last hill into Ealdor. Evening was descending, bathing the village in rosy gentle focus. Fresh village air filled his lungs, freeing him from the stresses and pains of the last few days. One he'd passed the border into Essetir, each step further in unwound the tight cord strangling his stomach. He'd honed in on the warmth of home, anticipating the tender embrace of the mother he desperately needed.

Merlin cantered down the slope, Arthur and Camelot receding from his mind, intent only on a flickering fire and his old pallet and his mother's food and sure hands. He wouldn't think of Camelot, of Arthur, for three days. He would forget he'd ever left this place, ever followed a voice tormenting him into the fulfillment of his destiny, ever made a life he'd cherished in another kingdom.

Merlin sprinted when he reached the bottom of the hill, the house on the edge of the village in his sights. Before he could reach the door, his gait slowed and finally halted altogether. A horse grazed, reins looped around the low garden fence. Regal and black as night, the stallion was unmistakable―Brenner, Arthur's favorite steed. The horse even turned its head, nickering at him in recognition.

Fear flashed briefly, but wrath outshone it. Arthur couldn't afford him one moment with his mother, rushing here before him to steal away everything he had left?

A sudden crash snapped his eyes to the doorway. His mother! Merlin dashed to the door, throwing it open and took only a second to view the scene―his mother on the floor amidst broken pieces of pottery, Arthur standing over her, wielding half the remains of a clay pitcher in his right hand.

Merlin threw his hand up, shrieking, "Get away from her!" Arthur's head swiveled, but didn't make it far enough to look at him before a violent force picked him up and tossed him through the air like a rag doll. He cracked into the house's stone wall, pinned and unmoving. Merlin crossed the room in three strides, drawing his blade as he went, the only weapon Arthur respected. He thrust the tip into the king's neck. "Don't move, or on her life, you're dead."


	83. Closer Than a Brother

Wrath flared along Merlin's insides, inextinguishable even as he locked eyes with the man that had once meant something to him. The blade held against Arthur's neck quivered, and the king's Adam's apple bobbed once, twice, thrice.

"Merlin!" His mother appeared in his peripheral vision.

"How badly did he hurt you?"

"He didn't hurt me."

"What did he do?"

"I was carrying the pitcher to the table and dropped it. King Arthur was helping clean up. That's all."

Merlin narrowed his fiery golden eyes, glaring at his onetime master. "So he's just here to arrest me."

"No, he's not. He's here to protect you. To tell you to stay in Ealdor so you're safe."

"He's lied to you." Merlin pressed the tip of his sword into the king's neck. "Where are the others? You never travel alone." Arthur swallowed a fourth time, but didn't reply. "Where are they?"

"Merlin. Stop this," Hunith demanded, placing three fingers to his cheek and forcefully turning his head to face her. "King Arthur did not hurt me. He is not here to hurt you or take you. He has done _nothing_."

Merlin scrutinized the liquid on the floor and the shards of pottery. "He _didn't_ attack you?"

"No."

"Is that what you think of me?" Arthur's small and frightened tone drew Merlin's attention back to the king. His gaze passed over the sword Arthur had given him on his fourteenth birthday, etched on the cross-guard and pommel with dragons. His hand faltered and the blade pricked Arthur's skin so a thin red line dripped down the left side of his neck. Time seemed to still. The blood on Arthur's neck slowed to a crawl and his thick breaths became drawn out gasps. Arthur's eyes, unblinking, rounded, glistened with fear. Merlin had seen such naked terror before, but always _for_ him, not _of_ him.

Merlin stepped back and the sword clattered to the floor. The golden haze tinting his vision faded away and Arthur slid down the wall a few inches, but caught himself before hitting the floor. He pushed away and stumbled a few steps to the door. He didn't say a word or glance at them as he staggered into the gathering darkness.

Merlin stared blankly from the door to the floor scattered with broken shards. He managed a couple shaky steps, then knelt down, muttering, "I'll help you clean up." He began to pile jagged fragments in a cupped hand until his mother knelt at his side and touched his wrist.

"He's been asking questions about you. I've told him a few things... Merlin, he doesn't want to kill you or take you. You're safe. I promise."

Merlin fisted his cupped hand, ignoring shooting pain as shards crunched and dug into this palm.

"Merlin!" His mother wrenched his hand open, then grabbed his shoulders, guiding him to the table where he collapsed onto a stool. She disappeared momentarily then returned to press a wet cloth to the puncture wounds.

Merlin concentrated on the sting, grateful for a proper excuse for his eyes glazing. "It's over," he whispered.

His mother touched his back, rubbing comforting circles. "What?" she prompted.

"Him...Me..." A lump lodged in his throat and his tears flowed in earnest. He'd run roughshod over Arthur Pendragon and destiny. There was nothing left.

* * *

Arthur didn't make it far outside the door. He passed Brenner, but toppled when he reached the corner of the garden fencing. He knelt in the dirt, leaning into the spindly posts, wrestling control over his racing heart and a sharp wave of nausea. He lifted a hand to wipe his sweaty brow, but stopped when he noticed it shuddering like a dotardly old man. He hugged his arms into his chest and peered blankly into the darkening evening.

All he could see were Merlin's fierce yellow eyes possessing the capability to kill and destroy. All he could feel was his body immobilized like a dying fish on a spear. All he could hear was Hunith pleading, intervening to prevent a sword from slashing his windpipe.

Arthur fingered the sticky stripe of coagulated blood at the side of his neck. The idea of the boy's magic had been abstract until that moment even though he had a confession and the boy's own mother as a witness. He hadn't quite connected sensitive Merlin with the evil his father had preached against all his life, but the evidence was overwhelmingly undeniable. The boy he'd thought to protect in the last three years hadn't needed his shelter, was utterly capable of taking care of himself and fighting any enemy standing in his way.

Enemy. That's what Merlin believed him to be, a man who would ride into Essetir with the intent to enact fatal justice and attack the mother of a criminal. In all these years, the boy had experienced nothing to make him think his secret would be safe in King Arthur Pendragon's care.

Arthur blinked and startled at two lines tracking down his cheeks. He pressed the back of a hand to his right cheek. Curse the boy. The weeping maid had returned.

* * *

"My boy," Hunith murmured into Merlin's raven hair, "I didn't think when I sent you back it would lead to this."

Merlin's eyes were shuttered, but his thoughts whirled as his mother held him. She'd let him weep without words as she had many times in his childhood, wisely waiting for the heat of the moment to pass before tackling his troubles. But the tangles of play and the mocking words of peers were nothing compared to the dismantling of his destiny.

He'd been so stupid to assume Arthur would ever injure his mother. Didn't he know the man was noble and honest? But he'd been so sure he'd never be accepted, not without cajoling and begging and pleading. And when he'd seen Brenner, he'd thought Arthur had been so angry he'd rushed to Ealdor to steal away his week of freedom and force him back to Camelot for judgment.

"I proved him right," Merlin choked out hoarsely. "Magic's evil."

His mother's embrace tightened. "He might have thought that once, but I don't believe he truly does anymore."

Merlin opened his eyes and sat up at the table out of her arms. "How could he not? How many have attacked him? I attacked him!"

His mother enclosed both his hands in her warm grasp. "Because he has a list of all the ways you've aided him written in your hand."

Merlin blinked. "He has it with him?"

Hunith nodded. "He showed it to me when I questioned how he knew. And I asked him if this was my boy's death warrant."

"It is," Merlin whispered.

Hunith shook her head. "It might be if Arthur Pendragon were his father. King Uther hunted your father down, would have killed him if he'd been found here. But, Merlin," she squeezed his hands, "King Arthur came here with only one desire―to assure you would never suffer such threat."

"And I proved _I'm_ the real threat." Merlin flung his arms onto the table and buried his head in them. His mother's hand stroked his smooth locks.

"Have you? Or have you shown your true heart is to protect? You meant to defend me, just as you did with the whirlwind."

"He won't understand."

Her hand stilled, and she lifted his head to cup his chin and look straight into his eyes. "Explain it to him."

"I can't talk to him."

"Merlin." Her tone was stern. "You are no longer a child. You will face this. You and I have not sacrificed all these years for nothing." Her voice cracked on the last word, and it occurred to him that she'd given up so much to send him back to Camelot. She'd lived alone, letting letters satisfy her and not his presence.

"Mother," he spoke softly, running a knuckle over her cheek as she withdrew her hands from his chin. She seemed smaller than when he'd left. Or was it that he was taller?

Hunith blinked away unshed tears. "If you are two sides of a coin, if Albion needs you both, there is still hope."

* * *

A shiver rippled down Arthur's spine and gooseflesh puckered along his arms. The last shafts of an orange tinted sunset bathed the tiny village at the closing of day. He wore only a shirt and trousers, having removed his mail when Hunith encouraged him to be more comfortable. He hadn't thought he'd need to be ready to defend himself.

He stared down at his hand, a slight tremble still perceivable. He'd faced numerous dangers in his years and yet this had been the most terrifying. He would have liked to assign his emotion to a healthy fear of what he'd been told all his life was utter wickedness, but his heart wouldn't let him be so dishonest. It had been Merlin himself he'd feared, the usually docile boy displaying an alarming power Arthur had never thought to associate with him.

The door to the house creaked, and instinctively, Arthur's hand whipped to his hip, but he'd left his sword behind in the one room home. He grabbed the fence to aid him in standing, but his jellied legs wouldn't support his weight. He settled for readjusting, facing the door and whatever might emerge. He heard Merlin speaking with Hunith.

"He's by the garden."

"Go."

"I don't know if I sh―"

"I'm here. Go now."

Brenner, a few meters away from Arthur, nickered when a form reached him. The open door of the house backlit a stiff, lanky figure that paused to run a hand over the horse's neck. Merlin's head turned his direction and Arthur could barely make out his eyes in the impending darkness.

"Erm. My mother, she says I should talk to you, but if you don't want to, I can tell her and I mean, it's okay if you don't feel you want to. I can just go back in and―"

"Stop rambling." Merlin went silent and Arthur imagined him characteristically biting his lip at something he'd commanded the boy to cease a million times. It disconcerted Arthur to hear normal Merlin and not a raging sorcerer with the power and will to run him through. The youth's guileless tone presented the false hope that everything could go back to the way it had been.

Merlin turned back to Brenner, rubbing between his ears the way the steed liked, and Arthur realized why he'd reached Ealdor before him.

"You didn't bring Lebryt."

Merlin's reply sounded confused at an unexpected question. "Eh...no."

"Why?"

"I'm in enough trouble. I didn't want to add stealing."

"You couldn't have stolen him. He's yours."

"Yeah, but..."

"He was a gift," Arthur spat out, annoyed. "Free and clear." He pressed fingers into an ache in the middle of his chest.

"Like the sword I used against you," Merlin muttered. He leaned into the horse, not looking at the king. "Arthur, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I thought... Well, I thought..."

"I hurt your mother."

"Yes."

Arthur felt like screaming, _How could you ever think that?_ But an image of his hands strangling Merlin with a chain for show against Agravaine flashed through his memory. The boy had been terrified of him then, crying out when he checked on him after it was over, convinced Arthur thought he was a sorcerer. And his terror had been justified by the words and lectures he'd been given on magic's evil. "Do you fear me?" he ventured.

"A little."

"After you nailed me to the wall?"

"That was a mistake, I..."

"I get it. You meant to protect your mother." Hadn't he acted against Merlin to get to his dying father, leaving a bruise on the boy's jaw? Merlin hadn't done anything he himself hadn't done.

The light behind Merlin receded as the door closed sparing a thin crack as the boy stammered, "Are you...afraid of me?" His hands stilled on Brenner's back.

"A little." Well, more than that, but he wasn't going to say it.

The shadow of Merlin's shoulders slumped. "I won't hurt you. I mean, not again."

Arthur gut twinged and his tone hardened. "I considered you a brother." The boy seemed to curl into himself, but Arthur didn't stop. "And you didn't tell me. Why, Merlin? Why didn't you tell me?" He didn't have to ask. He knew and could have answered himself, but for some reason he had to hear it from the lips of the boy that had meant so much to him.

Merlin's voice was small when he answered. "I wanted to, but all you saw was magic's evil, people attacking you. And you said magic had no place in Camelot. And I knew if I said something...I thought you might not _kill_ me, but you'd send me away. And you're here and you're going to tell me never to go back." The boy's voice broke at the end of his statement and he leaned his forehead into Brenner's neck as if seeking comfort from the horse.

Arthur's stomach plummeted. Of all things...Merlin thought he'd be sent away and that sounded like the worst thing he could think of happening. But, of course, he had friends in Camelot and a life and... _Me_.

Arthur swallowed a lump in his throat as he remembered Merlin pleading for him to Morgause then throwing himself atop him to stop the blade slicing his head clean off. And he'd rewarded that faithfulness with derision and rejection. "You didn't study magic. You were born with it."

"Yes."

"How is that even possible?" Hunith had been unable to explain when Arthur had inquired.

Merlin shrugged, still focused on Brenner. "I don't know."

"What else can you do?"

"Erm."

"Besides attack people."

"I don't do that usually unless I have to."

"So then, what else?"

Merlin fingered Brenner's bridle. "Fix things. Unlock stuff. Make a light."

"Show me."

Merlin's head snapped to him, only its shadow perceivable. "Erm..."

"Show me," Arthur repeated quietly, heart thumping. He was commanding someone to use magic for the first time in his life. _Wrong! This is wrong!_ a part of his mind shouted, but another urged, _Do not judge what you do not understand._

The boy's skinny arm lifted, outstretched. A light began to glow and Arthur held his breath to behold Merlin's pale face awash in a misty radiance emanating from his palm. Merlin raised his hand and a thin line of light twisted above his palm, weaving and writhing until Arthur beheld an ethereal dragon floating lazily in the air.

"It's beautiful," Arthur murmured in awe. It was more the kind of thing he'd expect his scribe to do, but it didn't change facts. "And it's illegal."

The dragon melted back into Merlin's palm. "I know," the boy whispered.

There was another brief moment of silence before Arthur managed to speak again. "Open the saddle bag. Get the parchment."

Merlin's hand moved to the bag, flipping it open and reaching inside. He paused after he withdrew it, fingers curled around a crinkled paper he had written three days ago.

"You did all that."

Merlin's shadow nodded.

"It's a list of crimes." Arthur grasped the fencing, finally strong enough to pull himself up to face the boy sorcerer. "They mean you can't come back to Camelot. There _isn't_ any place for you."

* * *

Despair welled up within as Arthur stated Merlin's worst fear-he was not to return to Camelot. But if he did not return then destiny would fail, his entire purpose would be undermined and he'd have only one choice. Nimueh had thought he was giving up. No, he'd been giving Arthur Pendragon a chance, and now that the moment had arrived, the new king was on the verge of choosing incorrectly.

"Don't make me your enemy," Merlin warned softly, but with conviction. "I don't want to fight you, but I will."

He could see only a sliver of Arthur's face afforded by the light from the cracked door behind him. The king's jaw tightened. "Merlin..."

"You don't understand!" Merlin flung out a hand in frustration. "There's more that must happen. A lot more. I have to go back and if you try to stop me..."

"Merlin."

"Then I have to oppose you because you'll do things you shouldn't do and..."

"Merlin!"

Merlin felt as if grainy sand clogged his throat, cutting off the last of his tirade: _I'll have to be Emrys without you and that means killing you._ A tight band squeezed around his chest as he recalled the images in the crystals, Arthur hunting down sorcerers and slaughtering them. If he wasn't in the man's good graces, there was every chance such would come to pass.

Arthur continued. "My father's dead. Morgana's gone. Lancelot's exiled. Gwen is out of reach." Arthur rubbed at his forehead. "I've lost mostly everything."

Merlin's heart stuttered, grieved for his master, hurt for himself, and for destiny, shattering into a thousand pieces.

"So losing you...I can't do that." In the sliver of light from the cracked door, he could see one of Arthur's eyes fix on him.

"W-hat do you mean?"

"I lied to you, too. I hadn't been reading about magic to just figure out how to help my father. I've been trying to learn and I've been...thinking about it." He sounded guilty, but Merlin's heart fluttered in hope. "I told you magic had no place in Camelot because I was worried you'd study it. I thought maybe your mother had taught you spells because Aredian and Agravaine were so sure you were a sorcerer and then Nimueh kept showing up. And if you studied it and you were caught, I'd have to judge you. And now..."

"You have to judge me."

" _If_ you go back. So you can't. You must stay here. I thought a lot on the way here, and you were right about me. I'm not my father, and Camelot won't be safe for you until the law prohibiting magic is changed."

Merlin stared, disbelieving. Could this really be happening? Did Arthur mean what he was saying? "You mean...you accept...magic? Me?"

"I think I have to. If I condemn you, shouldn't I condemn myself? I'm a product of magic like you and neither of us it seems had control over it."

A warmth began to bubble in Merlin's chest, directly over his heart.

"The truth is," Arthur went on, "I'm not sure what any of this means, you and me and magic and my kingdom. I don't know the way forward. And...Merlin?"

The warmth boiled and steamed and sped through his veins.

"What are you doing?"

Merlin had no voice to respond to Arthur's concern. He pitched against Brenner, then hit the ground hard. The heat hurt, stung, ate up his insides. And it was intoxicating and glorious.

"Merlin!" Arthur's hands were grabbing him, and then Arthur was crying out and suddenly grasping him around the middle so that he lay half on the king's knees.

That's when time rolled backwards and he lived a second life for the first time.

* * *

Hunith had scooted her chair close to the door. She couldn't hear her son and Arthur clearly, but the low buzzing of conversation meant they were still talking. She'd thought to do something useful, but found herself unable to keep her arms unwrapped from her middle in anticipation that whatever happened out there might make everything right and maybe, just maybe, meant Balinor's hopes for peace in his time had not been completely dashed.

She startled when Arthur called out Merlin's name and then there was a cry from the king. She stood, thrusting open the door, fearing they scuffled. Instead she discovered the king lying on the ground, arms clutched around Merlin whose skin shed streams of shimmering gold. She ran to them, crunching to her knees and reaching out for her son. Energy tingled up her arm when she touched him.

"What happened?" She looked to the king for an answer, but his eyes were closed, though moving underneath the lids as if seeing in dream. Her gaze jerked back to Merlin whose visage reflected the same dreaming sleep. She touched Merlin's face hazed in gold, ignoring the tingle to pat his cheek. "Merlin? Can you hear me? Merlin!"

She lowered her hand to his chest. His heart thumped strongly, even powerfully, thrumming like a warhorse's. She looked back to the king and mumbled an apology as she checked him as well. His heartbeat was normal.

Hunith sat back and clasped her hands together under her chin. How many times had she walked in on her boy performing another magic feat? Each time she'd warned and reiterated he couldn't use it, but that had been for things like cleaning messes and instantly warming water. This was another thing entirely and it terrified her.

* * *

Fire crackled and popped not too far away, warming two stirring figures lying side by side. Each inhaled deep breaths as if they'd been racing in full out sprints. Their eyes darted here and there, taking in the one-room house at night. A golden head turned and then a raven one as well, two sets of blue eyes meeting and contemplating for several seconds before breaking the silence in astonished whispers that ran over each other.

"You dreamed about me."

"You want to make me your ward."

Arthur reached out a hand as he'd often done to ruffle Merlin's hair, but this time he simply let it rest on the boy's crown. "Merlin. Was it real? Is it true?" His eyes gleamed, alight with revelation.

"It...must be. I saw...you."

Arthur couldn't speak farther. How much time had passed? He didn't know, but he'd lived a lifetime inside a different mind. He'd discovered his magic at the tender age of three, endured lecture after lecture as he'd grown, chastised into keeping it hidden and avoiding its use. He'd heard scornful villagers whispering "bastard" and longed for a father he'd never met. And over and over he'd dreamt of a man in armor emblazoned with a dragon symbol. He'd hid the dreams and told no one until a voice shouted in his head, urging him to leave his home.

In fear and trembling, he'd sneaked away and found himself with Druids. They claimed they knew nothing to help him but stared at him as if they protected their own secret. Then men with the dragon crest appeared and began a slaughter and the man he'd seen for so many years in dream became flesh. He jumped in front of him to save him from death and begged to follow him into his kingdom.

His years in the castle were full of discovery, a dragon underneath revealing to him his purpose, and the prince there became his focus and soon, his friend. He would do anything for the man, even die if need be. He thrust himself into danger many times to spare the prince. He sacrificed and was faithful.

And the prince? He told him how bad he was in deeply biting terms but he could never show his hurt. Telling would remove him from the prince's side and he couldn't do that, until he was informed all Albion hung on his destiny. Bond or kill. An impossible choice.

The prince had raged at him after losing his father and he ran. This was the moment. Either the dragon man would change or make him an enemy forever.

Arthur shook his head at Merlin. "I didn't know..." What it was like to be a sorcerer. To spend every day fearing discovery. To give so much and receive so little in return. To be told day in and out your very existence was an abomination.

"I didn't either," Merlin answered. He'd spent his days in a castle, bearing the grief of a father who demanded excellence, restricted him with paranoid fear, and engendered in him a desperate desire for his approval. Every harsh word was a stinging arrow and every failure redoubled his efforts to please.

There was some respite in his friends, in the camaraderie of a youth who swore himself to his side and an orphaned girl who came to live with him, but the shadow of his father was greater still. Then the day came he was to lead a raid against Druids and as he looked on them, for the first time, he wondered about his father's ways. But the fight broke out anyway and he took part. He would have died, but a boy leaped in front of him and saved his life, and he couldn't understand why.

He let the boy follow him, intended to foist him onto someone else, but circumstance brought the boy under his charge, and as time went on, he began to think of him not as a servant, but what? More than a friend. More than a brother. He was something far deeper than explanation could articulate. He sacrificed himself for this boy, protected him, and then discovered the the boy hadn't needed him at all and he'd be forced to lose him for his own good.

Merlin's eyes welled with tears. "I do need you...Arthur...I always will."

"Merlin," Arthur swallowed hard and removed his hand from the boy's head, "Is this...the bond?"

"I think so."

Arthur's hand traveled to his wrist and the bracelet with the Pendragon crest. "All you've done for me. All I never understood...Thank you doesn't cover it. You didn't even know me, and you came to a place that could kill you. Gods, Merlin. I don't deserve anything you've done."

"You do," the boy's voice trembled.

Arthur's eyes met his again. "Is destiny real? What you've gone through, who you are, who _I_ am, can any of it be real?"

"It's real. It is. I was born to serve you, Arthur." Merlin suddenly smiled through his tears, that bright Merlin grin Arthur found so contagious and he smiled back. Such a blessed release after all the heartrending sorrow.

"What do we do now?" Arthur inquired.

Merlin's smile faltered to half his mouth. "I don't really know."

At that moment the door slammed open and someone shouted into the little house. "Where is Merlin?"

Merlin leaped to his feet to behold his father framed in the doorway. Arthur rose next to him and Balinor was suddenly rushing towards the king. Merlin leaped in front of Arthur and without even a thought, gold exploded from his finger tips ringing himself and Arthur in fiery flames. Balinor stopped, stymied.

Merlin toppled backwards at the explosion, but Arthur grabbed him under the arms to steady him, gasping. "Do you feel that?"

Merlin nodded. An invisible burning cord had shot out from his heart, punching through his back to link itself to the man behind him. A heartbeat echoed his own, a staccato stutter, as if he and Arthur were connected by a pumping vein.

"What does this mean?" Arthur pondered aloud.

Merlin shook his head. So many had told him about the bond, but none had ever been kind enough to explain it.


	84. Bonded

Although Arthur was awed at Merlin's heartbeat drumming after his own, the new sensation was another straw pitched onto an already taxed mind and he retreated into habit, doing what he'd always been good at―boxing overwhelming experiences into a mental compartment until he could take them out to examine at an appropriate time. He focused his attentions on Balinor instead, peering through the flickering ring of flames at the dragonlord's anxious visage.

Arthur set Merlin back on his feet. "It's going to take some time getting used to you doing things like this." He may have been gifted intimate insight into the mind of his scribe, but seeing magic in action right in front of him was still unnerving. "Stop doing it, Merlin."

"He might hurt you," Merlin protested.

"So you'll keep me shielded behind a raging fire forever?"

"No, but..."

Arthur sidled around in front of him. "He's your father, and I owe him an explanation. Cease the spell."

The flames receded into the floor, leaving no scorching behind. It occurred to Arthur he'd felt no heat, and he briefly wondered how magic fire differed from a hearth's before confronting the older man standing across from him. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Merlin is fine."

Balinor didn't acknowledge the king, instead craning his neck to peek around Arthur before Merlin stepped to the king's side. "Freya told you?"

"She said you told him about..." He cut off, eying Arthur with suspicion.

"I know about Merlin's magic." It still felt so very odd to say it and even a little wrong, but he pressed forward. "He's safe. I'm not taking him back to Camelot and I'm not going to kill him."

Merlin interjected. "Actually, about Camelot..."

Arthur whipped his head around and glared at Merlin with a look that shouted, _Don't start with me about this, especially now._

Merlin snapped his mouth shut at the same time Hunith called out from the front door. "Balinor!" The dragonlord turned to behold her framed in the doorway, a short, elderly woman staring curiously into the house from behind her. Hunith's gaze moved to Merlin and Arthur. "You're both awake. And unharmed?"

Merlin nodded. "We're okay. It was..." He stalled and Arthur noted his eyes flicking to the petite woman he didn't recognize.

Hunith placed a gentle hand on the woman's arm. "Mabin, it's all right now. I won't be needing you." The wrinkled woman shook her head and grunted in annoyance as she backtracked into the night. Hunith closed the door and faced all three of them with her hands on her hips. "Someone better explain what is going on here."

Merlin stepped forward. "It was the bond."

Balinor's scrutinizing gaze passed between Merlin and Arthur. "Emrys and the Golden Prince."

"We're..." Merlin glanced at at Arthur, "connected somehow."

Arthur brushed the middle of his chest again. The echoing heartbeat had disappeared, but he hadn't lost the connection. He harbored a compulsive desire for nothing else but the youth's presence. Merlin smiled at him again and Arthur nodded.

"Balinor," Hunith queried, reaching out to clasp his hand. "Why are you here?" Merlin's eyes twinkled with delight and Arthur followed his line of sight to his parents' joined hands. The youth's longing for his parents' mending and a complete family had come through quite strongly when Arthur experienced his thoughts.

"Freya told me Merlin had revealed the truth to the king and was coming here. I was," his wary eyes pierced Arthur, "fearful of the king's intentions, but it seems there is no current threat." He didn't seem entirely convinced, but Arthur supposed he'd have to settle for what he could get at the moment. His father had excelled at making people fear the Pendragons.

Hunith let go of Balinor to move to Merlin, resting her hands on his shoulders. "My boy. I thought something awful had happened to you." She looked to Arthur. "And you. I went for Mabin, hoping she could tell me what ailed you both. I didn't know what else to do."

Hunith embraced her son, and Merlin held her tightly, eyes shut, whispering, "Everything's okay now."

Arthur shared an awkward glance with Balinor who seemed as out of sorts as he viewing the intimacy between the mother and son.

Hunith pulled away from Merlin. "It's late. We must eat. You two," she pointed at Merlin, then Arthur, "wash up at the rain barrel. You," now Balinor was the recipient of a pointed index finger, "help me get a meal on the table."

* * *

Merlin swiped a candle holder from a side table, allowing a small spread of light as he and Arthur exited the dwelling and approached the rain barrel. "You first."

Arthur hesitated in front of the barrel, considering him in an inscrutable way, like he wasn't sure how to interact with him anymore. "It's your home."

"You're a king."

"Don't remind me," Arthur murmured, prying the lid off the rain barrel. He splashed water onto his face and neck and rinsed the slick of sweat away. His fingers ran over a small scab, but no blood. Hunith must have washed the nick he'd taken from Merlin's sword.

"Do you feel it now?" Merlin questioned.

Arthur ran a sleeve across his wet face. "Your heartbeat?"

"Yes."

Arthur shook his head.

"Me, either." Merlin's brow crinkled in thought. "Maybe it was just the bond telling us it's there."

"Maybe, but what do I know about these things? I thought you'd have the answers."

Merlin sighed, stepping up to the barrel and passing the candle holder off to Arthur. "No one's really taught me much about magic. Gaius a little, but he knows about magic potions more than anything."

"He offered himself for punishment in your place," Arthur informed him quietly.

Merlin paused, his fingers gripping the edge of the barrel. "He did?" His heart skipped a beat. Gaius had been so good to him. He owed him more than he could ever repay.

"So, you didn't know he told me that."

Merlin shook his head, then dunked it in the barrel and came back up rubbing vigorously. "I don't understand. If you and I saw each other's lives..." He stopped and cocked his head, the truth coming to him. "We couldn't have seen _everything_."

Arthur leaned into the side of the house with one shoulder. "I was wondering about that." He coughed and his thumb rubbed up and down the candle holder's handle nervously. "Did you see when Gwen and I..." Arthur cleared his throat again and Merlin caught his drift.

"You mean, when you've snogged her?"

"Merlin!" Arthur reprimanded.

The corners of Merlin's mouth curled upwards. " _Have_ you kissed her?"

"None of your business," Arthur snapped, but he peered up at him from under his fringe. "So...you didn't see any of that?"

Merlin grinned at the affirmation of his speculation, but shook his head. "I didn't see anything like that. You have feelings for her. That came through for sure. You still love her."

Arthur turned his back against the house, the candle held close to his chest lighting up his features. "You have feelings, too, for that girl... The one that can change into the bastet. Have _you_ kissed her?"

Merlin's cheeks warmed and he leaned back against the house, too, pondering the stars he'd often enjoyed on the castle roof with Freya at his side. He shrugged. Arthur chuckled. Merlin flushed even more. He actually hadn't, but he really _wished_ he had.

"So, then, I suppose we only felt some things and what we _saw_ was selective. I saw your dreams of me. Saving me at the camp. You going to Nimueh... What you've thought of me."

Merlin traced a constellation when Arthur went silent and spoke softly. "I thought you cared about me, but I didn't think I meant as much as Camelot." That had been an utterly shocking truth that dominated Arthur's view of him; he'd give up more than Merlin ever thought possible. Maybe that was a consequence of the bond. Perhaps Albion needed them both together so much, their tie mattered more than an entire kingdom.

"It's not been easy to choose," Arthur admitted, studying the glittering jewels scattered across the night sky as well.

There was silence for a time as Merlin outlined the patterns above. Some said the stars foretold destiny and revealed spiritual truths. He'd never found any answers there except to feel so very small in a vast world. "I think I know why I was born," he confessed.

"You said to serve me."

"That's my purpose, but I mean _why_. I think I was born because you were. If we have this bond, then I had to exist to make it work, and you were already here."

Arthur slowly nodded. "And you had to be born outside of Camelot, so my father wouldn't be a threat to you."

Merlin heard an uncharacteristic sniffle and turned to look at Arthur, his head bowed, a hand covering his eyes. He recalled the grief he'd experienced when seeing from Arthur's point of view, the crushing pain of losing his father. "I'm sorry about your father."

Arthur huffed dismissively. "You're sorry for me, not for him. You don't miss him."

Merlin bit his lip. "That's...true." No more lying to Arthur.

"I haven't met anyone who truly does. Maybe Lord Arnott, those who prospered from his injustice." Arthur rubbed at each eye in turn with the heel of his hand. "I wasted so much time trying to be him, a man of honor, and in the end..." He gasped a shuddering breath.

"I'm sorry he wasn't what you thought," Merlin muttered.

"So am I."

"Erm." Merlin jammed a thumb towards the back door, seeking a way out of a conversation that had become too uncomfortable for both of them. "I guess we should go back in."

Arthur pushed off the wall and handed the candle holder back to him. When they entered the house, Merlin scanned the interior. "Where's father?"

Hunith stood up from two bowls at the table. "He decided to walk for a while." Merlin looked crestfallen, but Hunith approached, caressing his left cheek. "Truth be told, I think he's a bit embarrassed by what happened. He'll be back. Come."

* * *

After the short meal, Hunith insisted the two of them sleep. She offered her bed to Arthur, but of course, he declined to take it. He settled in by the fire next to Merlin, not too dissimilar from the last time he'd visited. His body begged to collapse now that the chaos of the moment had given way to subdued normality.

As he drifted off, his last thought was of the young boy who had saved him three years before from a crushing blow. He'd stared at Merlin for a while, the youth's back rising and falling as he breathed, and wondered what destiny had planned for them. The weight of kingship already burdened his young shoulders, and to find that all Albion itself depended on his decisions... He didn't want the responsibility, the inevitable challenging of his kingdom's current ways and the pressure of an uncertain future. _I'll do it, though_ , he told himself as he closed his eyes on the sleeping form of the youth bound to him. _For him._ He had to do it. He wouldn't let Merlin's sacrifices be in vain.

* * *

Arthur's breaths slowed and deepened. When Merlin was certain the king had fallen asleep, he rolled his head to stare at his slumbering friend. He'd been pretending to sleep for Arthur's sake. The man had come all this way after suffering so much and needed the rest. Merlin found himself too exhilarated for sleep. He hadn't failed destiny after all. Arthur knew and believed and accepted. Sure, there would be times to persevere ahead, but they could face anything together, of that he was certain.

He turned his face to the fire, reminded of when he'd first met Arthur in person and the then prince had made him sleep in his camp. He'd been so terrified, having discovered the dragon man was the prince of Camelot. He'd stared into the flames and cried miserable tears. The road from that time on had been hard, so much pain of the heart and mind and body, but without hesitation, he would go to Camelot all over again if given the choice once more. Arthur was worth every trial, every hurt, every scar. He'd been so foolish to think Arthur would treat him as a common criminal. Never again would he doubt the honor of Arthur Pendragon, the Dragon Man, his master, his king, his brother, his friend.

 _Kilgharrah_ , Merlin spoke with his mind, _I know you aren't here anymore, but maybe you'll hear me anyway?_ Could dead dragons who dissolved in spirit lakes sense anything? He didn't know, but it felt right to speak to him. _Arthur's here and the bond is complete and I promise I'll be the Emrys you always believed in._

* * *

Balinor hadn't returned by mid-morning. Arthur had intended to leave for Camelot, but Hunith had convinced him to remain a day, pulling him aside as Merlin finished up breakfast. She'd nodded at her boy, scarfing down a third bowl of porridge as if he'd not eaten in weeks. "He needed you, you know."

Arthur had glanced at Merlin and grunted. "It seems I needed him more."

"No," she'd countered, laying a hand on his arm, then suddenly realizing what she'd done had started to remove it, but he rested his own hand over hers.

"You gave him up for me. I was quite the fool."

"You didn't know, sire." She squeezed his arm. "I saw when you were last here how much you gave my boy. Purpose and destiny, yes, but also someone he could look up to, admire, bond with in a way this little village could never provide. You have been so very good for him."

Arthur blinked his eyes and coughed and inquired, "Is this what you wanted to tell me?"

"I want you to stay with us. Don't leave him just yet."

"I would like nothing better, but my kingdom needs its king."

"Can you not spare one day?" Her eyes had pleaded with him to agree. He might have insisted on going back if it weren't that the connection to Merlin had grown even stronger overnight, and he struggled with the idea of leaving the lad even for a short time. So he'd agreed. One more day in Ealdor.

"We go to Camelot tomorrow then," Merlin commented when Arthur informed him of his plans. The boy had put himself to work for his mother, occupying a seat at the table to mend a cracked dish, working clay into a jagged split and smoothing the sticky substance with his long fingers. Arthur had glanced at Hunith tying her kerchief around her head in anticipation of a day in the fields.

"You're still staying here," Arthur announced.

Merlin's hands stilled as he looked up. "But the bond and destiny and the prophecy. I _have_ to go with you."

"I'll send for you when the time is right. Camelot must be safe before you return."

"You're not going to execute me," Merlin argued. "And no one else has to know about me."

"It's not that simple. I have to be careful about this."

"You said I could go with you wherever I wanted, but you keep ordering me to stay away from you," Merlin pointed out.

"This is for the best, until I can..."

"It's stupid!"

"Merlin!" Hunith chastised. "Listen to him."

The youth's cheeks flushed, and he stalked to the door, grabbing the water bucket hanging from a nail next to it. "I'm going to get more water." He pushed open the door and stamped into the morning sun. Arthur made to follow him, but Hunith interjected.

"Give him some time alone." She wearily moved over to the counter and the washbasin, sinking her hands into water to scrub dirtied dishes. "He often acts like this when upset."

Arthur picked up the dish Merlin had abandoned, wandering over next to Hunith, finishing smoothing the fresh clay. He let a small smile grace his lips. He knew that. More than once he'd had to track down the lad after a spat.

"Thank you for protecting him," Hunith continued. "He just wants to be with you so much. You mean more to him than anything else in the world, I think."

It was a touching thing to say, but Arthur wished she hadn't. Such a truth made leaving Merlin behind even harder than it already was. He could, of course, return to Camelot with the lad and say nothing as Merlin proposed, but he wasn't naive enough to believe Merlin could keep himself from performing magic. His reliving Merlin's experiences had revealed how often the boy simply ignored sense or direct commands to use his magic, and if he were exposed, such a revelation would complicate any headway that might be made in persuading the council the ban on magic should be lifted. They might even accuse Merlin of controlling the crown. No. He wouldn't risk such an eventuality. His approach to the council had to be gingerly handled. He'd enough practice in diplomacy to know persuading the members to his side was far preferable to announcing his intentions without their input and turning them into potential political enemies.

He glanced out the window over the counter at Brenner, the idea coming to him that it might be best to slip away before Merlin returned. He tossed the errant thought away immediately. He wouldn't do something so cowardly and heartless to the youth who held such faith in him.

Movement on the edge of the forest drew his attention, a familiar lanky form appearing at its edge. Not Merlin, but his father, Balinor. "He's back," Arthur commented to Hunith.

She stopped scrubbing and followed his line of sight. A warm smile curved her lips. "He probably spent the night in the forest. He's not used to people anymore." Her eyes saddened. Yes, Arthur thought, because the man had lived alone, a hunted criminal hiding away to protect his family.

"What's he doing?" Arthur asked, noticing a brown mass of fur in his grip.

"Checking his snares," Hunith said, her sorrow replaced by gratefulness. "He's been providing as he can for me."

Arthur's stomach twisted. Balinor had lived alone. Hunith had raised a son without his father. Theirs was a love stolen, and whether it was correct or not, as the son of the man who had altered their lives, he felt the guilt for it.

Balinor disappeared back into the woods and it struck Arthur this was a perfect moment to find time alone with the man. He set down the repaired dish and headed towards the door. "I'll help him."

"My lord, you don't need to."

"I want to." He marched out the door, jogging to catch up to the man, entering the woods and sighting his Merlin-like figure through the thick branches The man swung around, hand raised, having heard rustling leaves and snapping twigs. He lowered his hand as his blue eyes met Arthur's.

"Hunith said you were checking snares," Arthur began. He pointed at the couple rabbits dangling from Balinor's hand. "Need help?"

"No," Balinor answered, turning to walk on. "But come if you like."

Arthur followed behind the man, palms suddenly sweaty. Balinor's tension practically dripped off of him, but Arthur couldn't blame him. The last time they'd been together, he'd been insisting the dragonlord had no right to his son and threatening to take Merlin by force. He knew now from Merlin's memories that Balinor had let his son return only in light of his realization that Merlin had a bond with the prince of Camelot. Balinor stopped to finagle with a loop of rope cinched around the neck of a dead rabbit dangling from a squat tree. Arthur sighted another rabbit connected to a bush nearby and went to work himself, unsure how to begin conversation.

"You look like your mother."

Arthur, still untying the snare, looked over, surprised and taken aback by the statement. Balinor was scrutinizing him while stringing the newly acquired rabbit next to the others he'd already collected.

"I noticed the last time." Balinor walked slowly towards him and Arthur turned his attention back to the rabbit, untangling the rope and handing the animal to the man. Balinor tied the rabbit to the others, then turned and hiked back towards the village. Arthur kept pace with him at his side.

"You knew my mother?" he ventured. He'd wheedled so little out of people over the years, mainly Gaius when he was younger and visitors now and then who were less aware of antagonizing his father by mentioning her too much. And then there had been several months ago, visiting her home, questioning Agravaine, but that experience had left a fearful ache in his heart he hadn't been able to rid himself of.

"Met her only once," Balinor answered. "Kieran, he was the one who reported to Uther's court before..." He cut off, but Arthur didn't need the explanation.

"The Purge," Arthur finished. "He was a dragonlord, then, reporting to my father."

"Yes. He couldn't go once and I went in his stead. Gave my report and your mother talked to me after. She was gracious, kind. Kept your father in check." Bitterness tinged the last sentence and a familiar flipping of his stomach assaulted Arthur. His mother's loss had caused so many consequences for all of Camelot, the worst being the rage of his father that had changed the entire trajectory of the kingdom.

They reached Hunith's home and Balinor headed to the back, setting the rabbits down on a small circular stand and lowering himself to a bench. "I gave her a carving of a dragon." Balinor unhooked a knife from his belt, offering it to Arthur who took it, staring blankly at him as he recalled the dragonlord showing off several small, carved figurines when he had lied he was on his way to Camelot as a merchant. Arthur remembered he had thought the handiwork familiar.

"I have it," Arthur realized. "It's on my desk. A dragon with a long neck, wings upright, on all fours."

"Yes," Balinor confirmed, eyes boring into Arthur intently.

The king sat down across from the man and picked up a rabbit to skin it. "I found it in a chest that had been my mother's. My father didn't seem happy I wanted to keep it." Uther had snidely complained the artistry of the trinket was sub-par and it had never been worthy of his dear wife, but Arthur had liked it, glad to own something his mother had once touched.

Arthur set the knife down, a flap of rabbit skin flopping onto the table as he did so. "I'm sorry for what he did to you. I know it's too late and it can't change what you've suffered, but I apologize."

Balinor didn't speak and Arthur went back to work on the rabbit, glad for a reason not to peer into the dragonlord's disconcerting gaze. "How much do you know?" the man whispered eventually. Arthur looked back up, but kept his hands busy.

"I remember you. In the courtyard. Kneeling and...wounded. I didn't know the first time we met that was you."

Balinor swallowed thickly. "You were so young then... I...blamed you―the Pendragons―for everything that happened."

A satirical laugh escaped Arthur's control. "You're not the only one."

Balinor pulled at the right side of his shirt and Arthur's eyes widened when a scar was revealed, a brand of the Pendragon crest. "I could never forget."

Arthur stared at the brand so perfect in form and shape, yet it would have been excruciating to receive. "I didn't know."

Balinor let the shirt fall back into place and picked up his skinning knife again. "No. You didn't. And that is why I cannot let the blame fall on you. Your apology is accepted, but it was not needed."

 _Not needed_ , Arthur echoed in his thoughts as he pulled at the rabbit skin. Maybe not for those injustices that happened during the Purge. He hadn't been the one to maim and execute at that time. But his hand had done great damage, even if it didn't equal his father's. There were those he did owe―greatly.

"I was afraid you'd lash out in your grief," Balinor explained his actions of the night before. "Your father's grief concerning your mother turned him against us. I thought your own sorrow at your father's death might lead you to the same."

"You know why my mother died?" Arthur asked, practically breathless with the knowledge Balinor knew about his magical birth.

"Kilgharrah did." When Arthur didn't look like he understood, the man continued. "The dragon."

"I thought...perhaps the dragon meant to hurt my father, but Merlin trusts him."

Balinor laid his knife down and pinned Arthur with his gaze. "Your time has come. Kilgharrah died to make way for you. The first Druid woman Uther executed proclaimed a prophecy over him before her pyre. His reign would end when the last dragon died."

Arthur's mind reeled backwards to that moment in the courtyard where the dragon had declared to his father the time had come. He could have sworn when the sword had targeted its heart, the beast had bared its breast. "The dragon is dead."

"Yes. Because the time of Arthur Pendragon had to arise."

Arthur gripped the knife handle tightly. If this was true, the dragon had chosen to kill his father. Magic working against him again.

"Kilgharrah believed a time would come when Camelot would be healed and united. He let your father capture him to wait for Merlin."

"Yes," Arthur whispered. He knew this through living Merlin's past, hearing the voice commanding him to leave Ealdor. And he recalled in that swirl of Merlin's memories the dragon saying he couldn't let Arthur become any more like his father. Oh, how much destruction his father had wrought! Such heartache and grief and wrath. So much that _he_ had been chosen more worthy to live than his father.

"This is your time." Balinor's eyes were cold steel. "Don't waste all that has been sacrificed for you."

Arthur swallowed hard. "I don't intend to."

Balinor nodded once solemnly and continued dressing the rabbit. Arthur glanced at Balinor's covered shoulder shrouding the Pendragon crest brand. That his father allowed such a thing... "What was it like before the Purge?" he wondered aloud. His father had been a different man he knew from Gaius.

Balinor's eyebrows lifted at the question. "Free. We could use what nature had given us. Some did choose evil and were duly punished for their crimes, but many used magic for good. Camelot prospered with magic's aid. Even your father sought it and many of the nobles in his court. It did _good_."

Arthur smiled softly. "I've been told that." Gaius had recounted the story of the woman he loved, a magic healer who saved his people from death. Certainly what she had not done could not be named an evil.

"Perhaps I may see those times again," Balinor asserted, a tentative hope in his voice.

Arthur didn't answer. He found the idea at once exhilarating and terrifying. Suddenly, a tightening of his chest stole the king's breath away and the knife fell from his fingers as a throbbing heartbeat mirrored his own. He leaped to his feet and ran.

* * *

Merlin angrily snatched the rope swaying above the well, tying his bucket on. He had to work the knots twice before the pail was secure. He'd already taken the long way around the village, striding and stomping, and cursing Arthur in his head. _Clotpole! Dunderhead! Oblivious prat!_ Even now, after everything that had happened, he was just going to leave him here? Now that Arthur accepted his magic, everything would turn out right. Didn't he get that?

Merlin shoved the bucket off the lip of the well and heard it sail down and crash into the water with a satisfying splash. He really wasn't supposed to do that. Sending the bucket down that way risked ripping the rope off the well's crossbar and he'd have endured an earful if his mother had seen him do such a thing, but he didn't care.

"You're back."

Merlin whirled around at a voice he recognized immediately. Will stood not too far away. The youth had grown taller and his mop of dirty blond hair was wind blown, as if he'd been up early working in the fields. He probably had. "Will!" Merlin held out a hand to his friend in greeting, but Will kept his arms crossed over his chest.

"Why?"

Merlin glanced around the well. A few villagers puttered here and there. He moved closer to his friend and lowered his voice. "King Uther's dead."

Will crinkled an eyebrow. "Dead?"

Merlin nodded. "And I told Arthur about my magic."

Will suddenly grinned with self-satisfaction. "So he dumped you, huh?"

Merlin's heart sailed into his throat, all his anger at being left behind balled into a hard to swallow knot. "No," he choked out.

"Yeah? Well, where is he?"

"He's in my house," Merlin shot back.

Will narrowed his eyes.

"He accepts it. He accepts me." He tried a smile, but Will scowled.

"Well, good for you, then." Will dropped his arms and began to wander off back towards his home. Merlin ran to catch up with him.

"Why are you mad at me?"

"I'm not."

"Come on, Will. You're brooding. You always do that when you're mad." Will continued on and Merlin followed. "I know things didn't go well for you and Lancelot. I'm sorry."

Will snorted. "Right. You're _sorry_."

"I am."

Will stopped and pierced him with an angry gaze in front of the door to his home. "You always get everything you want, don't you? Living in the castle of a king, pampered, trained, the gift of destiny to the world." Will grasped the door handle to his house, but Merlin gripped his old friend's shoulder, spinning him around.

"Get what I want?" Merlin spat out. "Hiding the truth all the time, lying to my friends, put in the stocks, angry people kidnapping me and trying to kill me and breaking my fingers? Yeah, sure, I get everything I want."

Will shoved him in the shoulder. "Back off."

Merlin stumbled back a couple steps but kept speaking. "Mordred was there when Uther died. He wanted him dead."

"He killed him?" Will's voice shook slightly and his face fell a fraction.

"Not directly, but he's involved with a witch and she's evil." Merlin stepped up close to Will, forcing an infusion of compassion into his tone. "I'm sorry you had to come back here, but you don't want to be in Camelot. Bad stuff's been happening there. Lancelot's just protecting you."

Will huffed a breath. "You're so naive, Merlin. It's a wonder you aren't dead yet. Nobles don't care about us. They only pretend to care to get what they want from you, then throw your ass out when you're too much an inconvenience."

The back of Merlin's neck burned all the way up to his ears. "Arthur's not like that."

"He will be."

"He won't!"

"He'll drop you. You don't really matter. You never have."

It happened in a split second. The air around Merlin whipped up into a howling wind, rushing around his body, then striking out at the towheaded boy. Will was tossed several meters into the air and slammed into the ground with a thud and groan. Gold colored Merlin's vision and he blinked in shock. "Will?" He knelt down next to his friend who clutched at his right arm. He reached out, but Will flinched away from him, staring at him in terror.

Merlin would have attempted to help him, but became aware of a staccato heartbeat. Arthur? Speak of the devil. The king turned a corner, sprinting towards them.

"Merlin! Are you all right?" His eyes darted between him and Will.

"I.." Merlin looked at Will, then jumped up and fled.

Arthur intended to reach down to Will, but the boy pushed himself to shaky feet and stumbled into his house, slamming the door. Merlin had sped back towards the front of the village, earning curious and surprised looks from those lingering about.

Arthur tore after him, but Merlin must have been using magic because he ran faster than Arthur thought humanly possible. When he reached the edge of the village, the youth kept on running. Arthur veered off to Hunith's, untied Brenner's reigns as fast as he could, then mounted and kicked the steed into a gallop. By the time he caught up to Merlin, the boy was halfway to the woods. He swung his horse in front of him to block his way. When the boy made to skirt around him, he sidestepped Brenner to prevent Merlin's forward progress.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Merlin shot back.

"Your friend is hurt and from what I can tell, you used magic against him."

"What does it matter to you?" Merlin challenged. "You're leaving anyway, so just go."

He began to stomp away, but Arthur reached down and fisted the shoulder of his jacket. "Get on." He pulled a foot out of the stirrup for Merlin to climb up.

Merlin tried to push away, but Arthur hauled him upwards, staring into his eyes. "Get. On. The. Blasted. Horse."

Merlin scowled, but set a foot in the stirrup and swung up behind Arthur. The king took off at a full gallop and Merlin clung to him, arms tight around his middle. Arthur didn't stop until the wind had whipped them bitingly cold. Arthur relished the icy assault that stung his cheeks and froze his body, but glancing over his shoulder, he saw Merlin's teeth chattered involuntarily. Good. An uncomfortable physical condition did wonders at cooling a raging heart.

Arthur slowed Brenner, maneuvering from a barren hill to the woods. A weathered log caught his eye. He stopped near it, grasping Merlin's arm behind him to slide him off the horse. Merlin sank onto the log, shivering. Arthur came behind after securing Brenner, sitting shoulder to shoulder with the frozen boy to warm him with their combined heat.

"So you did magic back there?"

Merlin blinked several times before looking guiltily over at Arthur. "I-I...h-hurt...W-Will."

Arthur's brow furrowed. "That isn't like you." At least, he hadn't thought so, not withstanding his own encounter with the boy's magic just yesterday. "Did he do something?"

Merlin swallowed hard. "He said...you didn't care. You'd just...d-dump me in Ealdor when I wasn't of any...u-use anymore."

"And you did something to him for saying that? You know that's not true."

"But you _are_ dumping me here."

"I'm not _dumping_ you and you know it."

Merlin balled his fists and pressed them into his eyelids. A tremor shuddered down his back. "I'm scared, Arthur." The youth sounded more like he had when they first met, a child full of fear. "I couldn't control it."

Arthur's tone softened. "Your magic."

Merlin trembled again. "It lashed out at Will."

Arthur stared at the pale boy made even whiter by the ride and a dreadful fear. "That hasn't happened before?"

Merlin shook his head. "Not like that. I always meant to use it when I did. I wasn't even...thinking of using it then and it just...burst out."

"I felt it," Arthur murmured. "Your heartbeat again."

"Me...too..." The last word was drawn out, as if something had just come to him. Merlin dropped his fists and cupped his chin with his fingers. "It's when I do magic. You feel it and I feel you." His rounded eyes turned on Arthur.

"Do something," Arthur ordered.

Merlin looked around, then concentrated on the dead leaves at their feet. The brown crinkled debris of winter rose into the air, zipping back and forth and up and down as if directed by a fickle wind.

"I feel it." Arthur's hand covered his chest, the echoing heartbeat once more returned.

Merlin stopped and the leaves lazily floated back to the ground. "So you can feel it now every time I do magic." Merlin fingered his lips. "Nimueh told me when I completed the bond, I'd access all my power...This and Will..." His blue eyes grew troubled.

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. "It's more than you've ever accessed."

Merlin bit his lip. "Nimueh," he spoke with abrupt conviction. "She'll know. She said whenever I decided to tell you or..."

"Kill me?"

"Eh, yeah, that I should find her. She knows things. She did something to Nero so he could lead me to her. I have to go back to Camelot and get him. We can find her and she can tell us about the bond and help me with this"

"You definitely aren't going back to Camelot now!"

"It's the only way to find out about all this!"

"Listen, Merlin," Arthur snapped with his authoritarian voice that demanded Merlin immediately shut it. "What if you unleash this power in Camelot? Your lack of control is all the more reason you can't return. What do you think will happen if you lash out there? It won't go well for you or magic."

Merlin slumped next to him and Arthur sighed, ruffling his hair as he hadn't in weeks. "I do want you with me. Don't think I don't." Merlin didn't pull away, in fact, he leaned into the touch and Arthur felt all the more guilty that he was insisting he stay behind. He pulled back his hand. "This is all my father's fault. If it weren't for him, you could be who you are and I could take you along freely." Arthur carded an agitated hand through his locks.

Merlin spoke quietly. "I could go back and confess. Stand trial."

"You won't," Arthur objected. "The lords would insist on your head."

"But if they could see the good of magic..."

"There's a girl with magic in the dungeon."

Merlin blinked. "What?"

"Elyan and Gwaine and Percival brought her. She used magic. They brought her for my judgment."

"What did you do?"

"What could I do? If I let her go, I undermine a law that has held my kingdom together my entire lifetime. I was able to delay my decision, but the lords, they argued her guilt." Arthur laughed snidely. "She made her cow produce more milk so she wouldn't starve. Gods, Merlin. This is where my father put us. Punishing people for such a thing." His jaw clenched and he fisted both hands. "All my life, I just wanted him to _trust_ me. I wanted him to _laud_ me. And now...I'm so..."

"Angry with him," Merlin finished. "It's okay to hate him."

"I shouldn't... He's dead..." Arthur stood, pacing several feet away.

"You can hate the evil he did."

"He relied on magic. Used it. He was a liar and a hypocrite." A lash and Arthur's own hoarse scream rang in his ears. "He punished unjustly and hurt so many. How can I fight that, Merlin? How can those he hurt ever trust me?"

"Because I trust you. Maybe if they know Emrys does, then they can. I have to show them. Please take me back with you."

Arthur contemplated him for several seconds. "You can't go back to Camelot, but you can do something for me. For us. If I release Nero, he can find you?"

Merlin nodded in confirmation.

"I'll go back to Camelot and work on the kingdom. You can find Nimueh, and report to me at the border of Essetir."

"I..." Merlin pinched his lips together, silencing objection. "It's a good plan." And the right one, unfortunately. "It's just...I wanted to be at your coronation."

Arthur noted the boy's wetting eyes. He moved back to the log and placed a gentle hand on Merlin's head. "It's just a ruddy crown being placed on my head and a bunch of ritual blather. A formality and an excuse for tedious feasting so lords can maneuver themselves into my good graces until I drink myself under the table to escape them."

Merlin chuckled. Arthur liked the feasts, but he always abhorred the inevitable fawning and he _never_ drank himself under the table.

"Ah. I know. You just long for tasty treats to fill that insatiable gut of yours with."

Merlin snorted a laugh, but shook his head. "That's not it." He slid off the log, kneeling at his king's feet and gazing up at him. "I wanted to be there to say it with everyone else."

Arthur tilted his head as Merlin crossed an arm over his heart like a knight would when swearing a solemn oath. "Long live the king."

Arthur wiped a hand over his face. He wasn't teary. The weeping maid hadn't returned once more. It was just that sudden gust of wind driving rogue dust into his eyes.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Phew. Been a busy few weeks, but I finally got this out. Things will begin to move quickly from here on out, so many changes to come for Arthur and Merlin now that the truth has seen the light. Next time we'll also check in with some other characters. I'm sorry Arthur and Merlin will be apart again, but they won't be for long, I promise!


	85. Friends and Enemies

**Author's** **Note:** Holidays are sucking my time away. I hoped to get this chapter out way sooner, but life intrudes. I REALLY wanted to title this chapter, "Back at the Ranch." We're catching up with other characters who will play an important role as Camelot changes. So no Arthur or Merlin this chapter, but I promise we'll see them again next chapter. So much to happen for both of them as their world changes faster than they can hardly take in.

* * *

Gwaine ambled alongside several stalls, peering at wares for sale and periodically glancing over his shoulder. Elyan had caught him strolling out the gate and upon learning his destination was the market, tagged along, but he'd known exactly how to lose his unwanted shadow. Elyan would probably be annoyed when next they met, but that was all right. He'd just claim a pretty little thing had beckoned him and he'd skipped off with her, forgetting to mention his tag-along friend. Such a thing was typical of him and usually earned an eye roll and nothing more than a dismissive, "That's Gwaine."

Gwaine skimmed a line of stalls. Surely someone had raised pretties at the tail end of winter. Or maybe sales of such items fell at this time of year and they weren't worth the effort. His heart sank for the merest of seconds then fluttered when he sighted a burst of color a couple stalls down. He pushed through the crowd and grinned at what met his eyes.

"You want some, sir?" the young girl manning the booth inquired with a twinkle in her eye.

Gwaine nodded, picking up a bundle of pastel pink and yellow blooms, each petal broad near the center and tapering to a point.

"That's Sostalia."

They were gorgeous and delicate. A perfect contrast to rigid, drab gray.

"Are they for a lady?"

Gwaine looked up with sudden surprise.

The girl cocked a smile. "You've got the lovesick look about you."

Gwaine leaned against the counter of the girl's stall, ignoring the warmth in his cheeks and staring into her eyes. "What about you? Fancy a night in the tavern, a stroll under the stars, and the most succulent lips in the Five Kingdoms?" He puckered and the girl blinked in shock. He worked not to show his glee at her predictable flustering and his successful derailing of further inquiry.

"I already have a boy."

"Want another?"

The girl's mouth dropped open. "Blimey. You're trouble."

Gwaine guffawed, pushing off the counter and digging into his side bag for some coins. "So they tell me." He dropped a couple coins in her hand and leaned in close. "Word to the wise. Never have more than one. It doesn't ever work out well." The girl's giggling sounded in his ear as he scurried away with his purchase.

"Gwaine?"

Oh no. Lancelot, the exiled knight he'd met once in Ealdor, had materialized ahead in the lane. He whipped the hand clutching the flowery bundle behind his back. Didn't need the man getting the wrong impression. "Lancelot."

"What are you doing here?" the man asked, confusion etched on his face as he stopped before him, hands perched on his hips.

"In the market?"

"In Camelot. Arthur let you off Agravaine's land?"

"We let ourselves off."

Lancelot frowned.

He tumbled over a hurried explanation. "A girl there, she did magic. We brought her here for Arthur to judge."

Lancelot went suddenly over eager. " _You_ brought the girl? What happened? What did Arthur do?" His hand shot out to Gwaine's shoulder, shaking him a bit.

Gwaine used his free hand to remove Lancelot from his person. "Calm down, mate. Arthur was brilliant. Declared her guilty and commanded the councilors to personally kill her. None of them would so he said it wasn't the will of his people and he wouldn't either."

Lancelot stared wide-eyed. "Arthur said that."

"Yeah."

"He let her go."

"She's in the cells, but he'll find a way to get her off." His faith in the king had been lost and restored in seconds at that point of the trial. He'd gone from raging furious at Arthur's betraying his moral code to smirking so hard he thought he'd dent his face forever when the king handily challenged the court. "We've been pardoned, too," he added as an afterthought. "Elyan and Percival and me."

"I need to talk to Arthur."

"He hasn't been seeing anyone. Staying to himself before the coronation."

"I need you to get Leon. Tell him I need to see him at the front gate."

"Sure thing, mate, right now. Good to see you again." He sidled around Lancelot, swiping the flowers to the front of his chest as he turned his back to the man.

"You have...flowers?"

Gwaine twirled around, eyeing the Sostalia bundle. "For...erm...for..."

Lancelot chuckled. "Already? You've been in Camelot, what, less than a week and already?"

Gwaine shrugged, letting Lancelot conjure up his own assumptions.

"Good luck."

Gwaine nodded and hurried on. When he passed through a gate to the citadel, a voice called out. "Gwaine! Join us!"

Fury and damnation! In his haste, he'd chosen a path past the training yard and a large giant of a man was shouting at him, hailing him with a waving sword. As the eyes of every knight on the field fell on him, Gwaine thrust the Sostalia into his jacket. He probably looked quite the idiot with one hand concealed, but he swaggered towards the yard nonetheless. Percival had taken to practicing with the knights and they welcomed him with ease. But him, well, his irreverent mocking of their stuffy codes and gloating every time he won a duel hadn't done him any favors.

"Not today," Gwaine drawled. Most of the knights visibly relaxed. Gwaine nailed a couple of the most antagonistic with his gaze and waggled his eyebrows. They glared as he strode on.

Finally, he reached the dungeon stairwell. He hid the flowers once more, down at his side when he paused to exchange conversation with a guard and relate Leon called for at the front gate. They'd already raised eyebrows when he passed with blankets and books. Flowers would probably make them think he was doing something he wasn't really doing. He'd only been carrying out a duty. _You may see to the prisoners' comfort_ , Leon had told him. So he had.

He turned the corner to the first cell, the most comfortable, containing two padded cots and a chair. He cleared his throat as he approached. Sefa jumped up, smiling broadly and his stomach completed a somersault. "Gwaine!" She was always so glad to see him, but she didn't get many visitors. Of course she was glad to see him.

"Hey." He fiddled with the lock on the cell. Leon had given him his own key when the guards complained about the frequency of his visits. He shuffled in and held out the Sostalia

"Oh!" Sefa cried, grasping the bouquet in both hands and drinking in their light scent. "Thank you." Her shining blue-tinted grey eyes locked onto his and he swallowed thickly.

"Thought they might brighten this place up a bit."

"You are kind." The deeper voice belonged to Sefa's father, sitting on the other cot across the way. "I did not expect such treatment in a Pendragon cell." He'd seemed to tire as the days dragged on, but remained in good spirits all things considered.

"Arthur's not his father," Gwaine insisted.

Ruadan nodded, his mouth curving slightly. "He's a much better man than most."

"Gwaine, come see this." Sefa pulled at his arm, plunking him on her own cot after she set the flowers on the chair. She settled in next to him, her right side flush against his left. He glanced at Ruadan, but the man had busied himself with a loose lace on his boot. "I've never seen stories like this. They're so inspiring."

Gwaine peered at the book now open on Sefa's lap. It was another of those chivalrous poems he'd always made fun of, chocked full of grandiose vocabulary, overblown loyalty to women, and most unrealistic, knights with hearts pure as gold. But as he gazed on Sefa gushing over the plot of the most recent epic tale he'd plucked from Camelot's library, he swore he loved it more than any other literature in the world.

* * *

Gwaine! Where was that man? Elyan stalked through the crowded marketplace. He'd joined his friend when he met him heading for the market, desperate for something other than the drudgery of the castle. When they reached the first stalls, Gwaine pointed out some fine daggers at one booth, asking his opinion. He gave it, but when he turned around the man had disappeared. He had the sneaking suspicion he had been purposefully lost.

He reached an area clear of market stalls and meant to continue on, but the contraption standing at one end caught his eye and his step faltered. The sky was overcast now, but the sun had overpowered it on that day. Sweat had poured from every inch of his body, a reaction to the weather, but also anger and shame. His wrists had chafed in the shackles; his muscles ached, then burned.

Today, children incorporated the stocks in their play, using them as base in a game of tag. On that day, naive young ones had emulated the actions of the adults, participating in the _fun_ of punishing a criminal soul. Today, no soul bore the jeering of tossed putrid veg nor waited for release to be led home by gentle hands that ignored his disgusting state and tenderly rinsed away the rancid smell.

A hand on his arm drew his attention back to the waking world and his sister's concerned dark eyes. "Elyan."

He enveloped her in an embrace, letting his head rest atop hers. "It's so good to see you, Gwen. All that's happened. You must have been so scared. I wish I'd been here."

She squeezed him tightly. "Father told me you'd come. I'm sorry I didn't come see you right away. I needed some time."

He let her go. "No apologies. I'm the one who made a mess of everything." He sighed long and deep. "I always seem to."

Gwen pressed a hand to his left cheek. "You don't."

Elyan snorted and nodded his head in the direction of the stocks. "And those? You had to come get me, humiliate yourself in front of your neighbors, friends."

"I wasn't humiliated. Just worried for you."

"I should have listened to you. You've been right about most everything. Arthur's a man of honor and my meddling did nothing but get him punished. And even when I try to make it up to him, I fail."

"Elyan..."

"You told me once ruling was more complicated than we knew. Having to make decisions when people's lives depend on you...it's a terrible burden. Far from easy."

"The girl," Gwen intuited softly. "I heard about her. You brought her."

Elyan rubbed at his forehead. "I didn't know what else to do. She was guilty, but to just execute her..." He shook his head. "I couldn't do that. So I foisted that decision on Arthur."

"And Arthur didn't kill her."

"No. He judged wisely. Did what I can't."

Gwen sighed, taking his hand in hers and guiding him away from the stocks he'd once occupied. "Arthur has mentioned you more than once these last months, your thorough reports. He's said how fortunate he is to have a man he trusts securing de Bois lands."

"He likes my reports?"

Gwen nodded. "So you haven't failed at everything. You helped Arthur stop the troll. You've guarded his interests. You've been who I always thought you could be." She stopped in front of their home, and Elyan clasped her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

"Little sister. If I had but a smidgen of your heart, I would be a better man a hundredfold. Our king is blessed to have earned your affection." Gwen bowed her head and Elyan frowned. "What is it?"

"There's nothing between us anymore."

Her tipped her chin to survey her glazed eyes. "He's rejected you?"

"It was my decision. There are some things that cannot be no matter how much you want them."

"Gwen," he breathed. He gathered her into his arms. "Here I worry about my own pains."

Gwen's breath caught in her throat. "It's as it should be." She gently untangled herself from his arms and deflected, waving a hand at the door. "Let's go inside. I can make you something to eat."

"I was looking for Gwaine," Elyan noted, "but I have an idea where to find him when he lets me."

"The tavern?" Gwen guessed. "He made quite an impression there last time."

"There, or the dungeons."

"Dungeons?"

"He's been seeing to the needs of the girl we brought." Elyan lifted his brow and tilted his head meaningfully. "He's spent a fair amount of time with her."

Gwen smiled sadly. "Then he's willing to see beyond her magic."

"Magic doesn't mean anything to him..." He stalled, catching the sorrow in her expression. "What troubles you?"

"Just...Morgana..."

Elyan grimaced. "I'm so sorry you've lost her." Gwen didn't say another word, just nodded to accept his consolation. "You gave so much up for her." He glanced at her right side. "And to find out...Wait. Your arm. It's healed?" He grasped her arm and ran a hand over her skin, healthy and smooth and clear of discoloring. "How?"

"Life came back into it."

"Did Gaius discover a cure?"

She pulled her arm away from him, put her healed hand to the door to push it open, and spoke quietly. "Elyan, you do trust me, right?"

"Of course. Always."

"Then don't ask me to tell you more. Not now."

He frowned, but recalled her sure hands aiding him away from the stocks all those years before. He owed her. He nodded and followed her into the humble dwelling.

* * *

Lancelot paced in agitation, back and forth, back and forth, boots crunching a well worn pattern in the dirt outside the citadel gate. Arthur had to see him, would see him. His constant glancing into the courtyard was finally rewarded by the familiar form of Sir Leon marching across the pitched stone. He stopped pacing and waited eagerly, fists clenching and unclenching in anticipation.

"Leon," he stated when the man crossed the threshold of the gate. "I must see Arthur. Please speak to him for me."

"The king is not permitting any audiences at this time."

Lancelot narrowed his eyes. Despite his exile, Leon had never spoken to him so formally. He'd always commanded the man's respect and empathy, doubly so after they had worked together to rescue Arthur when he was captured by Agravaine. "Gwaine said the same, but surely you have access to him."

Leon nodded slowly.

"There is a matter of great importance I must discuss with him. Just tell him I'm here. I won't come in as requested, but I ask him to honor our fellowship of these years past and allow me to speak briefly." He had to talk to Arthur, had to know if the man he'd held in such esteem had discovered the better part of his nature Lancelot had always believed existed.

Leon glanced at the guards at the gate, then looked back at him. "The king wishes to remain in isolation until his coronation."

Lancelot stared at the man's stern, slate eyes looking straight at him with a small tilt of his head. He'd seen that expression before when the knight wanted to convey a message without words. Something he'd just said had been off. Arthur had isolated himself. It didn't sound like Arthur. Lancelot had considered that already when Gwaine said he wasn't seeing anyone, but after the death of his father and having to shoulder Morgana's...loss―no, he wouldn't call it betrayal―he assumed the man suffered as he and meant only to hide away from it all. He's spent three days occupying the inn to do the same. But perhaps... "It's unlike Arthur to hide from things." The man wasn't a coward. He faced his issues head on even if he wrestled in pure agony for an hour or so. "What's really going on?"

"The king is isolating himself," Leon repeated.

Lancelot wanted to throw up his hands in frustration. Was he reading this wrong and Leon had no information to impart at all beyond his words?

"You know, most of us, we honor you still, for your loyalty to our king."

Lancelot furrowed his brow. Well, he had guessed that. He was always welcome when he showed up on Arthur's outings.

"If our king were ever in need, you would aid him."

"Y-es. Of course." _What are you driving at?_

Leon turned on his heel as if to head back into the citadel, then swung ninety degrees to peer back at him. "Did you know Merlin isn't here?"

"Merlin?" Lancelot questioned the unexpected mention of the scribe.

"He's gone to visit his mother. I hope his return is swift and uneventful. Good day." Leon stepped back over the threshold and into the courtyard. Lancelot stared after him. How odd for Merlin to take off, especially now when Arthur needed all the friends he could get. Then again, Arthur had railed at the lad, too, having found out he'd deceived him in various ways...

Lancelot's eyes rounded. Merlin gone home. He'd fled. And if Arthur had come round, if he had realized the detriment of his anger on the lad, he would seek Merlin out first above them all.

 _Arthur's in Ealdor._ But no knights were missing. He's kept abreast of such things to maintain a watch on the prince, now king. If they were all accounted for, then Arthur had gone alone. What was the man thinking? There were angry Druids out there just waiting for a chance to enact their revenge on the last Pendragon. And Morgause? What if she remained close by?

Lancelot bolted back through the town towards the inn stables.

* * *

Morgause hesitated when Mordred breached the entrance of a dark cavern. "They're here?"

Mordred smirked back at her. "Are you afraid of the dark?"

Morgause scowled and marched up to him. "You may be Emrys, but you are still a _child_. You should be punished for insolence toward your elders."

"Go ahead and try," he challenged, his cape twirling with him as he turned and stomped away into the cavern.

Morgause might have attempted something, but a hand gripped her arm, pulling it down. Morgana's green eyes met hers, tired, worn, worried. "He's not had a mother," her sister reminded her.

Morgause pursed her lips. "He had one once. You would think he would want to honor her with his behavior." She peered back at the rag tag group following behind. "We will need light!" she called, wrapping her left arm around Morgana's right as she had these two days. Her sister seemed to need the support. She'd been reserved and downcast, far from the independent, headstrong woman Morgause had first encountered in Camelot. Such moroseness would need to be addressed soon, but in private. She wouldn't embarrass her sister publicly. She glowered at Mordred's retreating back. Him, on the other hand...

The self-called high priestess sniffed at the boy ahead of her. So he hadn't a mother. She'd been separated from hers at the age of eight but done her utter best to make the woman she loved proud. She'd excelled in her studies, earning praise and admiration, and clung to her mother's vow that someday she would return home. Even now her mother's promise echoed in memory: "When it's safe, my dearest heart."

Morgause's eyes flamed, burning hate heaped upon the object of her ire even though he had passed from this world as a result of herefforts. Such a victory didn't change that she'd been forced away from her mother by _his_ sins. She wished what she had discovered could be scrubbed from her mind, the day she'd ignored her nurse's strict commands to keep away from her mother, too eager to reveal her latest triumph―forcing a flower bud to fully bloom in less than a minute. She'd bounded up the stairs and flung open the door to her mother's chamber—only to find her bare, laying in bed, and a man's startled face peering over her shoulder. Her mother had gasped, the man had roared, and she had dropped the flower and run.

Her mother had found her in the garden half an hour later, sheltered behind a copse of rose bushes, and stroked her golden tinted chestnut locks. "My dear."

She hadn't cried. She rarely allowed herself the weakness even then. "He's the king."

"My little bird. Yes, he is. But you cannot tell anyone."

She'd hugged her knees and refused to look at her mother. "He has Queen Ygraine."

Hurt colored her mother's reply. "Yes."

"Then why does he want you?"

Her mother had sighed and sat down next to her. "He's overwhelmed. Exhausted. He can't say all the things he'd like to to her, so he says them to me."

"Why can't he tell her?"

"There are some things you don't tell so as not to hurt someone else."

"Who do _you_ tell?"

"I don't have anyone."

"You have me."

"Yes." Her mother had kissed her forehead.

She'd wrinkled her brow and snapped petulant eyes to the woman who had been hers alone since her father's death. "I don't like him."

Her mother had taken a deep breath and held her hand, her gorgeous green orbs turning solemn. "I will make you a bargain. If you keep silent and do not tell anyone he was here, I will not let him come ever again."

Morgause had contemplated her for several seconds. Her mother had always kept her bargains. She'd nodded. "I will never tell."

Morgause navigated the cavern carefully, watching both Morgana's steps and hers, tightening her hand in her sister's. Her mother had kept her promise and shunned Uther Pendragon, but it was too late. Not two months later her mother informed her she was to marry Gorlois and then explained she would be sent to the Isle of the Blessed where the high priestesses could further her education. She sensed the secret immediately, had already felt the additional life force when her mother embraced her and she brushed her belly. She'd inquired without preamble, "Is the baby the king's?" Her mother had stared in shock and nodded and then burdened her daughter to carry another secret to her grave.

Only she hadn't taken it to her grave. Morgause looked on Morgana. She'd told the baby now grown who deserved to know her heritage and not be shrouded in secrets and lies. Those lies had caused her mother to marry a man she didn't love but who, out of his own years of devotion and caring heart, was willing to claim the baby growing in her womb as his. Lies had made her mother sequester her on an isle the king could not step foot on to protect her from any "accidents" that might befall her and forever extinguish what she knew. He never did come to the isle, but his paid traitor did, three years after the baby had been born, one year after her mother had died. She was away at the time with a sick mentor, unable to return for the Samhain ritual, when Uther Pendragon's shadow had breached the isle, slaughtering every priestess on it when they imbibed the sacred wine laced with poison. She'd fled along with many others, gone into hiding, harried here and there, until all but she had been rooted out by witchfinders.

Morgause balled her fists. Uther, he who had betrayed his wife, had the audacity to turn on magic when it granted him the heir he wanted and took his wife in return. He hadn't wanted Ygraine when he'd sought out her mother. He didn't deserve to grieve. He didn't deserve his son. And that son, he had raised to be just like him. Morgause clutched at Morgana's arm. There was only one Pendragon that deserved the throne, and by God, she would have it.

* * *

Mordred beamed and raised his chin proudly when a Druid guard flashed a light from his palm and called out, "Who comes?" He'd lived here a couple months, basking in the truth these Druids knew—their people had been too weak for too long. They'd let themselves be slaughtered, followed the pacifism of the elders. But no more. The Pendragons would be wiped from the face of the earth and sent to the abyss where they belonged.

"Mordred," he replied, meeting the guard.

"Mordred? You're...talking?"

Mordred grinned. "And I have good news. Alvarr will want to hear it."

The guard glanced behind him at the approaching group. "Who are they?"

"Friends." He leaned in and whispered. "One of them killed King Uther."

The guard's eyes widened. "Uther's dead?"

Mordred nodded and the guard grasped his arm and shook it. "Well met, mute one." Then he chuckled. "I guess not anymore."

They moved deeper into the cave, Mordred at the head. He stuck his chest out like a mighty warrior leading his army. Alvarr had often grumbled he hadn't recruited enough warriors to attempt an assassination, but Mordred brought a high priestess and the former king's ward. The Druid leader would possess the power and legitimacy to make a strike but not such a blatant one like Morgause. Alvarr had the subtlety the woman lacked. Still, the high priestess had managed to get rid of Uther. That counted for a lot in his mind, no matter how much the haughty woman annoyed him otherwise, treating him like a child. He was no child. He didn't depend on others to take care of him. Not like Emrys, who hung onto Arthur Pendragon like a trained pup begging of its master. Mordred bristled. Magical beings weren't meant to cower at the feet of royalty, hoping that someday they'd be accorded worth from on high.

Alvarr appeared ahead and Mordred waved. He would be the true Emrys, free, unshackled, the savior of magic. He glanced back at Morgause, recalling her admonition to keep his identity as Emrys hidden. He'd submit...for now.

"Mordred!" Alvarr strode towards him, followed by his two right hand men, Tauren and Ari. "Who are these?"

Before he could answer, Morgause swept passed him. "I am Morgause, high priestess of the Isle of the Blessed."

Mordred scowled. Why did she always assume she was the center of everyone's world?

Alvarr guffawed. "The Isle is dead."

"But it will rise again."

"She killed Uther," Mordred interjected, reveling in the gasps of shock, probably two-fold, responding to the news that a man they despised was dead and also to his unexpected vocalization.

Alvarr ignored his lack of muteness for the moment, though the leader's gaze swept over him before focusing on Morgause once more. "The king is dead?"

"I used the Knights of Medhir," the high priestess revealed.

Alvarr's expression morphed from shock to respect. "You woke them?"

"They have done what I desired." Morgause gestured behind her. "These are _my_ people. We will reclaim what has been taken from us, and as I understand from this _boy_ ," Mordred glared at her but she didn't even spare him a glance, "you wish the same. Our goals align."

Alvarr scanned her up and down, then peered over his shoulder at Tauren and Ari. Ari nodded. Alvarr looked back. "We're willing to hear more. You may join us for the time being." He turned to direct the group into their cavern camp.

Mordred pushed passed Morgause, brushing her shoulder. "Told you."

* * *

Morgana stared blankly at a trio of mismatched blankets that formed her makeshift room. The space had been hastily arranged as word traveled women had arrived in the cavern camp. The man who appeared to be the leader, Alvarr, had explained their women and children were secured elsewhere in case their mission to root out the opposition to magic in Camelot failed.

"Sister." Morgause appeared, pulling back a corner of the blankets and slipping through."I have found what I could." She set a bowl next to the flickering candles that provided light, along with a cloth, then held up a white shift. "Come."

With her sister's aid, Morgana discarded her purple gown caked with dirt and dust and wriggled into the shift. The cave was chill and she shuddered, but Morgause rubbed at her back, easing her onto the thick pallet once more. Her sister dipped the cloth and began to wash her face. The water was pleasantly warm. Perhaps Morgause had used magic to heat it. "Why didn't you tell them who I am?"

Morgause scoured her neck with the cloth. "We must determine how trustworthy they are before they are allowed such information. If the new king has established a bounty for you as well as me, they might seek to turn you in for their own gain."

Morgana's breath refused to leave her lungs, throbbing a pulsing ache in her chest. A bounty? Would Arthur do such a thing, declare her an enemy of the kingdom and offer a price for her return to trial and watch her neck be stretched on a block and...

The cloth moved to her arm and Morgana looked down at a faint, thin line snaking up the appendage. She had used a knife on herself to _save_ him, but had he known such? Her sacrifice might have been lost in the chaos of the moment. And then, she had told him Uther had done evil, made it seem his death was justified. And Merlin. He'd seen her trying to kill the king. He'd sworn he wouldn't say anything, but he was so close to Arthur. He might have told him or even let it slip without intention.

A hand shook her, then roughly smacked her back. She gasped and swiveled accusing eyes on Morgause, though her sister looked frightened rather than angry. "You did not breathe."

Morgana blinked and sucked in a couple deep breaths.

"Sister." Morgause's hand cupped her chin. "You cannot keep on like this. It is time for your brooding to end."

"I can't ever go back," Morgana mumbled.

Morgause smiled. "You will. Uther is dead. There is only his son to remove and then you will return, the true Pendragon heir."

Morgana stared. She didn't want a throne. She'd never wanted Uther's power, just his change, an end to the torment and slaughter of innocents... But she'd become him, hadn't she? Torturing him with the strength of her magic. "You should have let me die."

Morgause lifted her other hand, cupping both her cheeks and gazing on her with fire. "How dare you say such a thing. I forgive you your sympathy towards the prince. I let you get too close to him by waiting all these years. I should have foreseen you would feel for him. But he is not on your side. He hates magic just as his father."

"He was changing," Morgana muttered, thinking of Merlin pleading for Arthur's life.

Morgause cackled and dropped her hands. "You truly believe he will not honor his father or his laws?"

Morgana gulped. Arthur had always idolized Uther. Tried to live up to him. Clutched at his father's dead body in the agony of grief. "I...don't know."

She felt Morgause's fingers card through her hair. "You do not, but I do. Trust me. We must prepare before the Pendragon king takes his revenge. We will strike him before he can strike us." She pressed a comb into Morgana's hand. "Wash. I will return." Her sister smiled at her and Morgana watched her go.

She dipped the comb in the water and tugged it through her hair until her breath caught once more and she buried her face in a palm. Gwen used to do this. Comb her hair and style it, her hands gentle and skillful. And Lancelot used to praise her dark locks, running his fingers through them and grinning in a lovesick way.

The blanket rustled. She didn't want to see Morgause again, didn't want to listen to anymore claims that were only too true. When no footsteps sounded, she looked up resignedly and gasped. It was him, the old man she'd seen in the woods, holding back one of the blankets and piercing her with shining emerald eyes. He beckoned with a finger, then jerked out of sight. She leaped up, throwing back the blanket, just catching his retreating form hurrying further into the cave. She ran after him. He quickened his pace and she began to jog, then sprint. "Stop!"

She slowed when she'd wandered too far past the light from the camp. Darkness swallowed her whole and her heart careened like an animal caught in a trap. She backed away and hit rock, frantically looking right and left but finding only empty void. She froze when a voice hissed from out of the black depths.

"Come to me, Morgana Pendragon. Seek and find."


	86. Destiny's Burdens

Arthur tightened Brenner's girth in preparation for the ride back to Camelot, peering over the steed's back as he did so. Through the open door of Hunith's home, he watched Merlin stuffing food into a bag. He hated to leave him, but this was the only way forward for both the safety of his scribe and the good of his kingdom.

Arthur breathed deeply, cherishing the fresh air of the village. Sadly, yesterday had probably been one of the better days of his life. He'd refused to let Merlin slump around his home, distressed and worried over his magic, especially after his attempt to talk to Will failed when the other boy refused to leave his house. Arthur threatened to make Will appear, but Merlin begged him not to. Arthur had smiled internally then, remembering how he'd loathed any time his own father interfered in his tiffs. So instead, when Hunith had started for the fields, he'd insisted they both join in the work.

The labor had been strenuous, furrowing hard ground for the coming spring, yet it had been just what he and Merlin needed after all. The strain of muscle and the satisfaction of accomplishment refocused them both. At first, the villagers had tried to step in and help Camelot's king, appalled at the dishonor of their "savior" toiling like a common man. Apparently they still regaled each other with tales of Kanen and the great Prince Arthur who had rescued their little village. Arthur put them off, digging into the soil with as much gusto as they. By their looks of surprise, they hadn't expected him to possess any knowledge of farming. Certainly he wasn't as skilled, but he remembered his own experiences when at a young age his father had assigned him to various tasks in the kingdom, providing him with a least a rudimentary understanding of farming, carpentry, blacksmithing, and so on.

"You are highborn," his father had lectured, "but your kingdom is peopled with those lower than you. You must be familiar with their ways to instruct them properly." He'd resented the work in the beginning, but over time grudgingly admitted the good of participating in the labors of his people. He gained an admiration for them he hadn't had before.

His father's insistence he familiarize himself with his people's ways had been quite wise, and a war waged inside as he tilled Ealdor's hard crop ground. His father's wisdom had been blackened by his egregious errors. Could he possibly honor the good in his father while blatantly exposing his evils?

Arthur had plunged into the labor, expunging his conflicting thoughts. He'd basked in the presence of Merlin and Hunith at his side and observed Balinor hooking himself to a plough to contribute his share. He'd delighted in the cool water he'd slurped from a bucket and laughed at Merlin's backwards leap when he'd sloshed some at him. The boy had grinned and for that moment, all was right, normal, easy.

Arthur sidled around Brenner and scanned the early morning stirring of the small village, peasants rising to milk cows, collect eggs, and draw fresh well water. The villagers might have been poor in wealth but so very rich in other respects. Their hard work brought its own reward⸻a savoring of the production of their own hands. Nobles at court would have scoffed at his contentions, pampered with their cushions and ointments and fine clothing, but Arthur found right now he rather envied Ealdor the freedom of its simplicity.

"Here." A bag had appeared next to Arthur's elbow. "It's enough to get you a day from here."

He accepted the offering from the boy with the raven hair and met his saddened blue eyes. "I know why you came with me, why you stayed, but you've given up this." He gestured with his free hand at the village. "It's a good place. I wish you didn't have to leave it."

"It's not Camelot," Merlin muttered.

"That's precisely why I like it."

"Are you trying to get me to stay here?" Merlin's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I wouldn't try. I have no hope of that anymore." He patted Merlin's shoulder. "You'll let me know when you find Nimueh." Merlin nodded with a hint of reluctance. Hunith and Balinor appeared at the threshold. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"You are welcome, sire, at any time," Hunith exuded.

Arthur nodded. "Well, then, no more dawdling." He held out his hand for an arm grip from Merlin and the lad about cut off his circulation in return. "Farewell." Fearing he'd choke up once more, he forwent all the other pieces of advice he'd intended to spout and attempted to mount his horse. He'd barely managed to raise his foot to the stirrup when a band tightened around his middle and tugged him backwards. He glanced over his shoulder, unsurprised at Merlin's glowing eyes since the heartbeat sensation had returned. "What are you doing?"

Merlin blinked as if recovering from a reverie. The invisible pull and the golden eyes ceased. The boy's cheeks flushed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to."

Arthur raised his eyebrows at more evidence of Merlin's heightened magic. He prayed for both their sakes Nimueh would guide him in the harnessing of it, otherwise he'd be remiss to ever let the youth back into Camelot. Teenage boys were trouble enough without the power to fling targets skywards and break their arms. He briefly locked eyes with Balinor and took comfort in the man's slight nod. He needn't worry. Merlin's father would hold to his promise.

Arthur mounted. He nodded to Hunith, then Balinor, and finally looked at Merlin. Curse the lad and his easy tears! The boy would have him back to the blubbering maid in no time. "Soon," he assured. " This isn't farewell forever." When Merlin bravely nodded, Arthur lowered his voice and leaned over so only he could hear. "Go to them." Merlin followed his gaze to his parents in the doorway. "You never know how long you'll have them. Don't waste these days."

Merlin looked back at him. "I...Arthur...I..."

The king raised himself up in the saddle, ruffling the lad's hair one last time as he went. "You don't have to say anything. I know." The boy's commitment, faithfulness, care went deeper than words could ever convey. "And I do, too." Before the maid could crouch at the corners of his eyes, he swung Brenner westward towards Camelot, his kingdom and his burden.

* * *

Merlin didn't move until Brenner and his rider passed over the hill and out of sight, warring with the pulsating magic roiling his innards. It had never pressed on him like this, snapping and clawing for release. _Calm down_ , he ordered. _You'll see him again and you'll both be fine. You will._

A tear slid down his right cheek as a roughened hand gripped his shoulder. Embarrassed, he rubbed at the escaped tear and stepped away from his father's grip. Glancing at him and then his mother in the doorway, the sympathy in their expressions became too much to bear.

"I...I'll be back." He took off around the house, pausing to shelter in the shade of its eaves. He leaned against the stone wall, wiping at both his eyes and cursing his lack of self-control. It wasn't just Arthur leaving, it was magic raging like a furious ocean, thrusting a tidal wave his direction that threatened to wash him out to sea.

A steady voice rose within, his king's when he'd drilled into him the calming techniques knights employed before tournaments. _Only you exist. Your body, each limb, each muscle, each breath. Your mind knows only the stances, the swings, and parries. Listen. Trust your skill._ Merlin closed his eyes. Arthur had said such techniques caused all to vanish, the crowds, his father in the booth, even the adversaries waiting in the wings. The magic shuddered and stilled.

"I can't do this." Merlin buried his head in his hand. He couldn't stop every time this happened, spend his days frozen in terror until he soothed the magic. But if he didn't, then it would be Will all over again, wouldn't it? He'd be unable to stop conjuring whirlwinds and decking people with invisible fists.

In agitation, he pushed off the wall, wandering into the village and not identifying his path until he stood in front of Will's home. He steeled himself and knocked on the door. After a time, it cracked open and a solitary eye peered out. "Hey. I'm sor—" The door about slammed in his face, but a hand prevented such and even pushed the door wider. Merlin looked up to find his father, eyes boring into his friend.

"Let him in."

Will visibly swallowed and stepped back. Merlin wrung his hands, but entered the dwelling.

"Do you want me to stay?" Balinor asked.

Merlin shook his head.

"I'll be outside."

The door shut the two boys alone in the dimly lit home. Will cradled his arm to his chest as he retreated to his bed and sat with his face turned away as if his friend didn't exist. Merlin shifted back and forth on his feet. "Eh. How's your arm?"

"Fine."

"I can tell it isn't," Merlin shot back, his tone made harsh by nagging guilt.

"It's hurt! You hurt me!" Will barked, fixing him with an angry glare.

Merlin's tone softened. "I know. Look, I didn't mean to. This bond with Arthur, it's made my magic stronger and I wasn't trying to hurt you. It just happened. I _am_ sorry."

Will stared at him for several moments and his eyes suddenly glistened. "I hate you."

Merlin's heart skipped a beat. "Will, I wouldn't ever _want_ to hurt you. I..."

"Leave."

Magic surged, rattling his bones, and he barely breathed as he employed the calming thoughts once more. "I...thought...when I see Lancelot next, I wanted you to know I'll talk to him about you."

"So you're going back?"

"Soon. First, I have to find someone...But when I get back, I'll speak up for you. I swear."

Will picked at the blanket on the bed with his uninjured hand. "I don't need Lancelot. I can take care of myself."

Merlin scooted a stool nearer the bed and sat down. "You want to get out of here."

Will snorted. "Who doesn't."

"Your mother needs you."

Will looked up at him under his fringe. "So does your mother and you're not here."

Merlin sighed. "It's not the same."

"Yeah. Destiny. Your magic's really gotten stronger?"

Merlin nodded. "Will, I swear I wasn't trying to hurt you."

The boy stared for a couple more seconds then let out a long breath. "I believe you."

Relief flooded Merlin, and he relaxed, slumping in his seat. "Is it broken?"

Will considered his arm. He twisted it around to reveal a large bluish bruise. "I've had worse." Merlin dipped his head. "You're always so good at being guilty. When you look like that, I can't help but feel I'm the one who should apologize. Those things I said..."

Merlin looked up and shrugged. "It's okay."

"So...we're good then?"

"Yeah."

Tension fled the room, though both boys didn't speak for a minute until Will quietly broke the silence. "I know my mother needs me, but I don't want to be stuck here. Will you really talk to Lancelot?"

"I promise."

Will nodded his head slowly, then held out his hand. Merlin took it, striking the deal, and Will flashed the mischievous smile Merlin had always loved. "There is one good thing about being here, I guess."

"Y-eah?"

"Been spending more time with Saba."

Will's twinkling eyes caused Merlin's lips to curve upwards. "She likes you?"

"Mum gave me more chores after she caught us." He fingered his lips.

"You were at the kissing tree!" Will's face broke into a grin, and Merlin slapped his friend on the shoulder. As long as he could remember, youths in Ealdor had claimed if someone meant anything to you at all, you'd prove it by kissing under the huge oak tree at the front of the village in broad daylight. "How many times did you make it?"

"Four."

"Four? That's impossible."

"Not if you plan it right." Will launched into the story of his daring, amorous exploits. Merlin listened raptly, but truth be told, suffered a jealous twinge. He may have had experiences Will coveted, but he hadn't yet managed to tell Freya how he really felt about her, much less kiss her.

After Saba, the chitchat meandered into various other happenings of the village, until Merlin took his leave. He was surprised to find his father sitting across from the door, cross-legged, back against the wall of the house opposite, whittling a piece of wood. Balinor stood, flipped his carving knife, and sheathed it at his side. "All well?"

Merlin nodded.

"Good."

Merlin headed back towards his own home, his father paralleling his stride. "Eh...thanks for making Will let me in."

"You seemed to need it, though..."

"Yeah?"

"I didn't mean to overstep my bounds."

"You didn't," Merlin answered in confusion.

Balinor sighed loudly. "I'm afraid being a father doesn't come naturally to me."

How could it? His father hadn't been given much of a chance to be one and even when he did finally track down his son he'd been argued with and told he wasn't needed. Merlin chanced at glance at the man a head taller than him, but reflecting many of his own features. "You're doing all right."

"Still, it was a mistake to come here assuming the king would harm you. I dishonored your trust in him."

"You just want to protect me," Merlin defended the man, the center of his chest filling with a tingling warmth. His father loved him enough to show up on his doorstep to defend him.

"It's not really my place, though," Balinor mumbled under his breath. "I haven't earned it."

"I don't mind," Merlin insisted quickly. Balinor reached out and touched his shoulder, smiling thinly as if grateful for the encouragement.

When they reached home, his father slipped his arms around his mother's waist as she worked at the counter and kissed her cheek. Merlin's heart soared. When Arthur had said he wished he didn't have to give up Ealdor, he'd only thought the village a poor comparison to Camelot, but now, as his father stepped up next to his mother to help chop vegetables, he wondered what his life might be like if he stayed here with his parents, and for the first time, the thought of leaving filled him with bittersweet regret.

* * *

Morgause snatched the fabric of Mordred's shirt at the shoulder, hauling him to his feet. He'd been huddling in front of a crackling fire, conversing in low tones, and shot her a disgruntled scowl. "I need you," she snapped as she dragged him several feet away from the blaze.

"Let me go!"

"Hush! It's Morgana."

Mordred stilled and she released him. "What about her?"

"I can't find her. I was aiding her washing. I left for a moment and when I returned she was gone."

"Maybe she's in the camp somewhere."

"She's only clothed in a shift."

Fear flickered to life in Mordred's eyes and he sprinted away from her, making a beeline for the makeshift room. Cursed boy! She ran after, calling out, "There is more!" but either Mordred didn't hear her or didn't care. He threw back one of the blanket walls.

"She _is_ gone."

Morgause sniffed. "You didn't believe me?"

Mordred ignored her huffing. "Where would she go?"

"You must seek her with the mindspeak."

Mordred's lips curled upwards. "So, you need my magic."

"Do it!" Morgause commanded, glaring at the insolent child and narrowly suppressing the urge to cuff him across the mouth. Truth be told, she had attempted to seek her sister first, but her small crystal mirror had refused to conjure a projection. Instead, she'd suffered a raw scraping along her insides which could only be attributed to the expenditure of her magic in Camelot's courtyard. She'd been warned of effects, though they were lasting longer than she'd anticipated.

Mordred closed his eyelids for a moment, then they snapped open. "I hear her, but she won't answer me. She's upset."

"Can you find her?"

"Maybe...this way." The boy scurried into darker regions of the cave, his hand shimmering with a white glow. They hadn't hiked far however when another light appeared, bearing down on them. Morgause flung a hand up out of habit, but in seconds its owner appeared, Morgana rushing towards them, eyes bulging, chest heaving, and a vein throbbing in her neck.

"Where is he? Did he come this way?" her sister demanded.

Morgause furrowed her brow. "Who?"

"A man. Curly hair, white hair, beard, emerald eyes. Shining eyes."

Mordred cocked his head. "There's no one here like that."

"There has to be."

"I don't think there is."

Morgana made to run again and when Morgause blocked her way, shoved her aside.

"Morgana!" Morgause called after her rash sister. She caught up to her and grabbed her arm. "Come back to..."

"No! He has to be here." She ran. Morgause swore in exasperation and hurried after her. Morgana reached the camp ahead of her and ran from fire to fire, skimming the men and boys gathered around each. Her appearance, clothed only in an under-dress, drew much attention and murmuring, but she seemed oblivious to the distraction she was causing.

"Morgana?" Mordred asked, approaching the distressed woman. Her sister turned from the last fire, wringing her hands.

"He has to be here," she hissed.

"Is there a problem?" The intruding voice belonged to Alvarr, who eyed all three of them warily.

"No," Morgause replied. "No problem at all." She wrested control of one of Morgana's hands and pulled her along behind her. She heard Mordred inquire about a man with Morgana's description and Alvarr reply in the negative. The boy's plodding footsteps sounded behind them.

When they reached their room, Morgause aided Morgana inside and let her go, but the woman stalked back and forth, yanking at her long locks.

"He was here. He was. I saw him. Again."

"Who do you speak of?" Morgana's wild eyes nailed her and Morgause's breath fled. She'd beheld her mother in this state, when the seeing magic flowed so strongly it defied even the bracelet's power. She glanced at Morgana's wrist to confirm she still bore the healing gold and silver band. "Did you see something?"

"Him. Staring at me. Calling me. Whispering."

Mordred pushed past her and reached up to cup Morgana's cheeks. His ice eyes pierced her and Morgana abruptly calmed. "It's nothing. There is no man. You are safe." She went limp as a rag doll and Morgause barely caught her before she toppled. She eased her sister onto the pallet, running a hand over her forehead as her eyelids shuttered and her breaths evened.

"What's happening to her?" Mordred worried.

"Stress," Morgause answered decisively. "The days have been hard on her." Yes, that was it. Simply stress. She wouldn't even consider the alternative, the seer's curse, the invading madness. Morgana was strong. She would not break. Could never break. Fate wouldn't be so cruel to crush the one person she had left that mattered at all.

* * *

Brenner's hoof beats had long stopped thundering, reduced to a comfortable trot. One day to Camelot. They'd arrive the afternoon before the coronation. As he had several times along the journey, Arthur peeked over his shoulder as if he could glimpse Ealdor and Merlin keeping watch over him from his mother's doorway. More than once he'd resisted the urge to swing around, return to the boy, and declare he'd renounce the throne and spend the remainder of his life toiling in the fields next to his brother in heart.

A rhythmic pounding drummed the road ahead, and Arthur slowed Brenner to a walk, his sword hand resting astride his hilt in case a brigand materialized. The horse that came into view promised no danger, but his heart sank nonetheless. He knew the lithe, muscular form of its rider like the back of his hand. So much for freedom. His burdens had tracked him down before he even reached home.

The other rider slowed, then reigned in several meters away. Both men stared at each other for a while before Arthur managed to recover his voice.

"Looking for Morgana?"

Lancelot shook his head. "You."

Arthur's eyes rounded briefly and he laughed. "Me. You have to be joking."

"I'm not."

Arthur directed Brenner to the side of the road as he digested this information, then slipped out of his saddle and waved the former knight over. Pomers sidled near and Lancelot slid off the stallion's back to lean against a tree. Arthur faced him, feet shoulder width apart, back stiff and straight, an object of discomfort.

"Where's Merlin?" Lancelot's question hovered somewhere in between fear and demand.

Of course. When he'd been gifted insight into Merlin's mind, he'd sensed others had known of his scribe's magic, one of them a knight, though the name had remained concealed. "He's magic."

"You know," Lancelot breathed. "Where is he?" His tone turned desperate.

"You think I'd hurt him?" Hurt laced Arthur's reply.

Lancelot thrust out a hand. "What do I know anymore?"

A heavy sigh seeped through Arthur's lips and he crumpled to his knees, the side of his brow propped on a hand. "I've made a mess of it all, haven't I?"

"Merlin?"

"He's in Ealdor, alive and well. I instructed him to keep away from Camelot until I can make it safe enough for him."

A thump, and Lancelot had mirrored him, perched on his knees and his eyes curiously glazed. "It's true, then?" he choked out. "You're the man I always thought you were."

Arthur's guts somersaulted. He'd railed at Lancelot, derided him, betrayed his trust, and still the man followed him. As he had when he'd discovered his knights at attention in the corridor after the vigil over his father's body, he marveled he could be the recipient of such loyalty. "Not always. I've said foolish things, taken foolish actions. I owe you my apologies."

Lancelot drew his sword and stretched forward to lay the weapon in front of him. "My sword is yours, my king. Always."

Arthur blinked away the blur crowding his sight. He picked up the sword by the hilt and slowly rose to stand over his friend. "I accept it." He gently tapped Lancelot's right shoulder with the blade, then his left. "I reinstate you...Sir Lancelot."

The knight struggled to his feet. "Arthur...I doubted you."

"You had every reason to." The king slid the sword back into Lancelot's sheath. "I'll make your knighthood official when we return, though you'll be required to prove yourself. You'll have to submit to the trials again."

"I will. Gladly."

"You knew about Merlin all along," Arthur ventured. "No wonder you argued so passionately for the good of magic."

A flash of guilt passed over Lancelot's face, but he didn't confess to any wrongs and Arthur was glad he didn't feel the need to. "It wasn't just him I contended for."

"Your Druids."

"They don't all wish you harm. Most desire to live in peace. They love their kingdom as much as you."

Arthur spun towards Brenner, seeking to busy his hands. He stroked the horse's neck. "But some do hate me."

"Aglain will defend you."

"Who?"

"He's a Druid elder. I..." Lancelot broke off, eying him carefully.

"If you trust him, he's safe." Arthur ignored the twinge of hurt that Lancelot feared for his Druid friends still.

"I've been meeting with him. He means good for Camelot and he's advised the elders to give you time."

Arthur petted Brenner's mane. "So many on my side and I've been so blind. The Druids used to be our friends. Did you know the citadel was partially built by magic hands?"

"No."

"I've read about it. I...I've been reading about magic."

Lancelot's jaw dropped in disbelief.

"Camelot was so different once. My people weren't under constant threat from those who hate the Pendragon crown. The attacks need to stop. I must heal the rift my father created." Arthur had thought much on his day long ride yesterday. The only way to secure Camelot's safety was to make amends with those seeking revenge and justice; he'd hoist a hand across the aisle and pray it was accepted. "I'll need you to go to your Druids. Ask if they are willing to parley with me."

Lancelot beamed. "Of course. But what of the council?"

Arthur's eyes shined. "I have ideas about them. I'll require you and Gaius and Geoffrey."

Lancelot frowned at the mention of the librarian, but Arthur said no more.

* * *

Gaius monitored a heating vial nearing the correct color for a cough remedy. Tail end of the winter season and minor illnesses lingered on, sore throats and sniffles and an occasional chest congestion. Still, no serious sickness had reared its ugly head, making his job less time consuming than usual.

A twitching wing drew his gaze to a kestrel snuggled in a pile of cloths he'd arranged as a comfortable nest. The bird seemed to sleep more these days—bored, most likely. He'd kept the creature inside for fear it would take off after Merlin. Merlin would take perfect care of his pet, but in the physician's opinion the bird shouldn't be pressed into service, not while sporting a crippled leg. Suppose it settled on the ground and was set upon by a fox? Better to keep Nero safe for now.

A pungent odor stung Gaius' nostrils and he cursed, snatching the vial off the burner with his tongs. Grumbling, he waved the tongs in the air. _Another_ burnt remedy. "What is wrong with me," he muttered to himself. He was old, yes, but his inattention certainly wasn't a symptom of age. How had his thoughts wandered? Ah. Nero. And Merlin. And Arthur. And days without a message.

The physician plunked the vial into a bucket of water, hardly noticing steam hissing upwards. The coronation was tomorrow. Leon had admitted Arthur had sworn to return by then when Gaius had confronted him with the knowledge that the supposed isolation of their king was a ruse. Arthur prized keeping his word. He'd have to show up soon, but with Merlin or without?

Tapping resounded outside his door, someone striding down the hall at a quick pace. Oh dear. Perhaps his luck had run out and an emergency called for more than alleviating a runny nose. The door swung open and would have rebounded off the wall if the hand that forced it open hadn't prevented it from doing so. Arthur strode in, golden locks wind-swept, face a sheen with sweat, sucking in air as if he'd run ten miles. He scanned the quarters and even as Gaius called out, "Sire!" marched across the room to gingerly slide his hands under the kestrel.

The bird squeaked at the sudden disturbance and Arthur held it to his eyes. "You've helped me before. Now Merlin needs you. Go to him." He marched towards Merlin's bedroom and Gaius shuffled hurriedly after him.

"Sire, I don't know if he should..." But Arthur was up the stairs and at the window before he reached the top step, opening the shutter and holding Nero out. The kestrel zoomed away like a fired crossbow bolt.

Arthur swiveled towards the royal physician. "All is well, Gaius, as far as Merlin is concerned."

Gaius faltered and Arthur flung out a hand to guide him to a seat on Merlin's bed. "I'd always hoped..." the elderly man stammered "...wished for this day...I was so faithless."

Arthur guffawed. "Faithless? You've stuck around all this time. You didn't leave me or my father when it would have made sense."

"But I didn't think this day would come. I hoped, but never really believed."

"Believe it." Arthur settled down next to him, a hand on the man's shoulder. "Things will change for the better. I swear to you."

Gaius cupped a hand around the back of Arthur's neck. "Our hope. Our king. That I lived to see this day..."

"Gaius. Your woman, Alice. There were others like her, weren't there? Others my father consulted, relied on?"

"Yes, though those sensitive to magic were never numerous, there were enough of us to aid in various ways. The Druids and high priestesses usually kept to themselves. Nimueh was quite a different women in that respect. Her goals aligned with Uther's before..."

"My birth. Yes. But there were those who helped. Were taught to help?"

"There was a magic guild at one time," Gaius wistfully recalled. "Keeping track of those who offered their skills."

Arthur shifted eagerly. "And like any other guild, they kept records perhaps?"

"I suppose. Though they would have hidden any evidence of their involvement in magic when your father hunted sorcerers. And many would have denounced magic entirely to save their lives."

Arthur abruptly stood. "I need you to do something for me. Lancelot's in the library waiting for us."

* * *

Not thirty minutes later, Arthur stared in dumbstruck awe as a bookshelf in the library pivoted to reveal a small hideaway barely larger than a storage closet. To think this had been here all this time. His father surely hadn't known of it, considering what had been secreted inside. He stepped up to a lone shelf and picked up a book, flipping it open. Records, lists, copies of correspondence.

"I'm sorry, sire. I will accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate."

Arthur looked up sharply at the repenting librarian. How long would people keep offering to be disciplined for their conduct? His father had cemented fear in the psyches of their subjects. They expected swift retribution and harsh judgment, to receive no consideration before receiving their due. "You've been as loyal as Gaius. Why would I punish you for it?"

"Your father..." Geoffrey cut off a moment, thoroughly disconcerted. "He ordered all records pertaining to magic before and during the purge destroyed. He said they would only lead to possible sedition. I didn't complete his instructions."

"So some of the records _were_ destroyed?"

Geoffrey's cheeks tinged pink above his white beard. "Most. Your father arranged a public display. They were consumed by fire in the courtyard."

Arthur raised his eyebrows, surprised his father did such a thing so openly. But, he hadn't been one to skulk when he thought he was right. A bonfire consuming records would have sent a clear message—magic has been wiped clean from the kingdom and dare anyone mention it again, a pyre would lie in wait. Arthur held up the book in his hands. "If you hadn't kept something, I wouldn't have this now. It's what I need. You have my oath you won't ever be punished for concealing these."

"My king..."

The man halted and Arthur tilted his head. "Speak freely."

"Gaius and I...we always hoped your father's grief would end...his madness would cease...but he continued on...I was silent. I let things continue as they were."

Arthur drew in a prodigious breath. The purge had ended roughly around the age of ten for him. His memories consisted mainly of courtyard executions. They had become commonplace and he trusted his father's assertion they were necessary without question. Yes, he'd been a child, but he grew into a man. He led a raid and used his own sword to slaughter innocents under his father's orders. He'd even relished the pride in his father's praise of a mission well done. "My father cast a long shadow over us all. We must bear our own part, but this cannot hinder our way forward."

"Yes, sire. How else can I help you?"

Arthur peered over Geoffrey's shoulder at the two men staying conspicuously silent. "You can join us. Gaius, Lancelot, take these," he motioned at the records, "to a table. Geoffrey, send for refreshment and after it arrives, lock the door. I think our day and night will be long."

* * *

Spicy, leftover rabbit cooking on a spit woke Merlin early, igniting a watering mouth. His mother had dusted herbs on their meat when he'd been a child, but never had he experienced such exotic, tasty spice as Balinor had provided the night before. He'd dipped into a stash in the dragonlord sanctuary, his father explained.

Merlin saw his mother crouched at the fire and followed her tender gaze to his father sitting in the old rocker he had carved, his own expression one of infinite love. Merlin had accepted his father had loved him and his mother when they'd reconciled last year, but to behold such care tangibly in front of him―his father's pain became stark reality. How awful for him to be forced away from the woman of his heart and his child she'd borne. Merlin worried his lip. He hadn't been very kind to the man, eschewing his role as dragonlord to give himself fully to Arthur. What _would_ happen now that Kilgharrah had died?

Merlin propped himself up on his pallet, scrubbing at disheveled hair. "Good morning," his mother greeted and pointed at Balinor.

"Someone arrived while you slept," his father revealed, peeling back his jacket and withdrawing a feathery brown and white lump. "Thing was half-frozen and sorely exhausted."

"Nero!" Merlin jumped up and ran to the bird, cradling him to his chest. The kestrel protested with squawks and furious flapping. "Calm down. Calm." His words soothed the bird, but it leaped from his hands to the table.

Balinor scratched at his beard. "Never thought Aredian's kestrel take up our side."

"I can find Nimueh now!" Merlin exclaimed. "Nero..."

"Not until after breakfast," Hunith reprimanded, setting two plates on the table. "And a wash."

"But I need to find her as soon as I can."

"And if you faint of starvation on the way?" Hunith challenged. "Eat." Her tone left no room for argument and Merlin took his place. He fed the kestrel some of the meat off his plate when the bird strutted back and forth in front of him with his stumbling limp.

"How was he injured?" Balinor inquired.

Merlin glanced at his father, then at his mother who sat at the table with her own plate. "Eh...Just...An adventure."

"You were in danger, then," Hunith intuited.

"Maybe...a little," Merlin conceded. "But I'm okay now," he added hastily. After a few minutes of the family savoring the flavorful rabbit and downing cups of milk, Balinor set an object next to his son's plate. The wooden figurine was delicate but detailed and he recognized the subject immediately. "Kilgharrah."

Balinor nodded. "It's for you."

Merlin dropped his spoon and examined the carving. The dragon sat on his haunches, blowing a wreath of flame. A chain wound around his lower half. "Why that?" he asked, indicating the bonds.

"A reminder of what he did for you...and me...all of us." His father coughed and averted his gaze.

Merlin's magic flared once more and his plate rattled before he was able to tamp the power back down. He'd tried not to think about Kilgharrah much. Whenever he did, he felt the hollow place in his chest where a piece of his heart had been gouged out. "What will you do now that he's gone?" he whispered.

"The eggs still need a dragonlord."

Merlin flushed. "Yeah... Me?"

Balinor tipped back in his chair, chewing and swallowing the last of his meal. "I didn't want to burden you with this right now."

"But they do. You said a dragonlord who had never controlled a dragon had to be the one to hatch them."

"That's true. And they are beginning to desire release."

"They are?"

"Yes, but it doesn't have to be yet. We can afford to wait."

Merlin's right eyebrow crinkled. "What if no one hatched them? Would they die?"

"A dragon egg can last for a thousand years, perhaps even more. But those that wait so long for their release are sometimes...damaged."

"How?"

"In mind."

"How old are the eggs in the sanctuary?" Merlin inquired anxiously.

"I'm afraid I don't know."

"But they could be hurt!"

"I would sense their minds slipping away if that were so."

Hunith spoke up. "You don't know which of the dragons laid them?"

Merlin looked across at her. It sounded so odd for his mother to express concern over the dragons, but she must have known much about his father and his interaction with the beasts.

Balinor cleared his throat. "When I went to Uther to attempt peace, I didn't know he had killed the other dragonlords before my arrival. I didn't discover this until after I fled from Ealdor. I had hoped they might have been in hiding, but friends I sought out after told me all had perished. Uther had bragged of their deaths."

Merlin swallowed uncomfortably. He had known Uther was an awful man, had done heinous things, and now could hardly believe he had ever let himself walk the same halls as the murderer.

"I assumed with Kilgharrah chained in Camelot, the last of the dragons, that there was no hope. He had never taken a mate. Lucien had been entrusted with smuggling the eggs out of Camelot, but he died along with the rest. Rumor said Uther had disposed of the eggs in molten fire."

Merlin's hands balled into fists. It was a good thing Uther was dead.

"I went back to the sanctuary only because I knew Uther had not discovered it. I climbed for hours, half-blinded by snow and aching of frostbite. When I made it to the sanctuary, I intended to lay down and never rise." Hunith reached over to grasp Balinor's hand. "That was when I saw them, the two eggs atop the pedestals. I stumbled to them and laid my hands upon them. They spoke to me, breathed life back into my body and soul. Without them...Well, they gave me the purpose I needed and the will to live." He glanced at Hunith with unshed tears in her eyes and then at Merlin, blinking back his own watery film. "Kilgharrah may be gone, but they are still here, and right now, they have a perfect guardian. Lady Freya."

Butterflies battered Merlin's stomach. He suddenly wished to see Freya again, but his duties to Arthur to came first.

"There is another I must give myself for now."

"Who?" Merlin asked.

Balinor patted his forearm. "You, my son. Emrys and the hope of Albion."

"Me?"

"We've waited so long for you. And I will see this through, the peace of Camelot at last."

"He's going with you," Hunith explained quietly.

"To Nimueh?" Merlin asked, his gaze bouncing between his parents.

Balinor nodded. "I swore to your king I would stick to your side. And I know the high priestess. I can assure she treats you well."

A lump clogged Merlin's throat. His father at his side. Loyal to him and to Arthur and their destiny. "I..." He couldn't force any more words, so he leaped to his feet and embraced the man. Balinor folded his arms around him and Merlin savored the love of a man he'd craved his whole life. Kilgharrah's death might have left a gaping hole, but Balinor filled one in.

"Come on," Hunith prompted, standing and wiping at her eyes with kerchief. "Both of you have to get going."

Merlin and his father rose, quickly washing up and shouldering their packs. In little time they found themselves outside the small house, sharing last embraces with Hunith. Then, Merlin held Nero in front of him, stroking his silky feathers. He peered to the West for a moment. Today was Arthur's coronation. He hated to miss it, but he'd already professed his loyalty. From now until eternity, Arthur would have him body and soul.

"Find Nimueh," he whispered to the squirming kestrel. Nero took to the air and the son and father hurried after.

* * *

Arthur stifled a yawn and forced bleary eyes wide. It wouldn't do for a king to drift off at his own coronation. Silky hairs brushed the back of his neck, soft fur instead of the usual woven cloth of his red cape. The robe he donned today was more ornate and rich, though still blood red, a testament to his wealth and power and the import of the moment. Arthur fingered the white fur trim. His father had worn the same robe at his ascending, adored by his people because he had dethroned a tyrant.

 _And that's close enough to what I'm doing_. His father, a tyrant? To some, without doubt. He preferred to think King Uther misguided, blinded by his love for his mother, but such truths didn't excuse his injustices. "I can't do this."

"Sire?" a soft voice echoed his. It always struck him how Leon could shout orders like a roaring bear, then speak as gently as a mother tending her infant babe. Perhaps that's what had drawn him to the man when he was a child receiving instruction in the sword.

Arthur's hands grew clammy, and he shook them slightly, annoyed they were constricted by leather gloves. "Rule them. I can't."

Leon stepped in front of him to secure the robe around his shoulders. "This is your kingdom, my lord. It needs you and you alone."

"But my father, he hurt them. What if I hurt them, too?"

Leon let go the clasp and stood back, locking eyes with him. "What do you want from your people?"

Arthur considered. "Respect. Trust. Them to know I want the best for them."

"And what do you wish to give them?"

Arthur wiped a gloved hand over his brow. "I can't give them what I want." His voice rose in distress. "Happiness. Love. Safety. I can't guarantee any of these. Especially now. So much will change."

"Your job, my lord, is to open the door to these things for them. Whether they choose to pursue them is their own concern. And when you fail," Arthur's eyes shot to the man, "because you undoubtedly will at times, you can admit your wrongs and humble yourself before them."

Arthur nodded slowly. He knew intimately how imperfect he was. That other men looked to him for their security in life was ludicrous, foolish, but it was the way things were. His only choice was to shoulder the burden, stride through those double doors, kneel, speak the vows, and accept the crown. How he wished Merlin were here to lend him his ridiculous youthful confidence.

"You were born to be our king and we will follow you." Leon gestured to the doors. Arthur heaved one last breath, then let the man open them.

In short order, he walked the aisle, swore the oaths, felt the weight of the crown on his brow. But he knew even then, Leon hadn't been entirely correct. This kingdom didn't need him and him alone. If it rested on him alone, it would be all too easy to fall into his father's trap, to make unilateral decisions that damaged his people irrevocably. He had to do all in his power to prevent such an outcome.

So it was, during the coronation feast, that he called aside a messenger and penned several summons. And after the feast that had been both tedious and exhausting, he approached the library doors once more, prepared to alter his life and do what no king had done before. He pressed the doors inwards, then shut them silently. Light already flickered on the far east side of the room, indicating his summons had found their targets.

His footsteps echoed down an aisle, and muttering voices hushed at his approach. When he emerged, rapt attention fell on him. He moved to the circular table, standing behind an empty chair and meeting each of the awaiting eyes—Gaius and Geoffrey, relieved, their burdens finally lifted. Leon, his first knight, guarded in expression but fire tinging his slate depths. Lancelot, beaming as if the sun shone in the dead of night. Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine, curious, perhaps confused to be included in this august company. And finally, the intense brown stare that cut straight through his heart because his love for her had never subsided—his precious Gwen, characteristically unsure of her status in the order of things. How he wished to gather her in his arms, but that was not to be.

King Arthur cleared his throat, an attempt to cool his nerves, and began.


	87. The Round Table

Arthur gripped the back of his chair tightly, stilling nervous hands shuddering too much for his liking. As he spoke, the weight of the crown he'd removed after the feast returned, invisible yet tangible to his brow. "All of you here, in one way or another, have lent me your trust and I ask you to lend me a bit more."

He honed in on his white knuckles. The words were much harder to speak than he'd anticipated and an unexpected flicker of grief kindled in his chest. He cleared his throat, looking up again, but found it easier to focus on the center of the table than those gathered around it.

"My father saved Camelot once. He loved his kingdom and wanted its best...but he changed. He stopped hearing anyone but himself." He lifted his chin. "I won't be my father. I _will_ listen. Each of you has challenged me, spoken when it was safer to remain silent."

Arthur directed his gaze to the men on his left—Gaius, Geoffrey, and Lancelot. "Some of you have spent years at my side, waiting too long for me to see the truth. And others," he turned his attention to Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan, "have risked your lives on my behalf when you barely knew me." Next, his Gwen. "You wound me to the quick as you should." She ducked her head, and he spared her more embarrassment by moving on to Leon on his right. "And you've granted me the courage to be more than just a good king, but a good man."

Arthur uncurled his hands from the chair back, standing straight and tall. "Camelot is going to change, and I need those who will be honest with me. You're here because you already have been. And so, I'm going to be open with you."

He drew in a long breath. This was it. Once he plunged ahead, there would be no going back. He stepped to a side table underneath a window and retrieved four books prepared for this moment. He plunked them on the curricular table at his spot, although he still refrained from seating himself. "These were found among the possessions of Agravaine de Bois. They are illegal...and I have been reading them. They concern...magic."

Several chairs creaked as those residing in them readjusted, but no gasps sounded. Considering that a positive sign, he scanned each eye again, curious what this revelation meant to them. Gwaine caught his attention, the irreverent man having the audacity to grin like a Cheshire cat. Well, at least one of them was enthusiastic.

"What do they say?" Gwen's small voice carried to Arthur's ear. Her brow was furrowed, her question guarded.

Arthur thumbed open the book on the top of the stack. "They're mostly historical accounts, some philosophical. They concern magic's support of Camelot."

"Of Camelot?" The incredulity came from Elyan; unsurprising as he had grown up drenched in the constant rhetoric against magic practice.

"I wondered if they might be lies," Arthur continued, "but I've confirmed they are accurate." He finally took his seat, propping an arm on the table, then gushing away about what he'd learned. "Camelot was partially built by magic hands. Wards were used to protect it in the days of Bruta. It welcomed learning of all kinds, magic as well. Sorcerers weren't plentiful, but they weren't turned away and in return, many plied their ways to the good of the kingdom. Over time, they established their own centers of practice. They even instituted their own court for dealing with those who misused their abilities. Some chose evil, but most lent their aid.

"And now? We've been set upon by those who rebelled against my father, those who feel their lives have been taken from them. Revenge or justice or whatever they may call it, they'll keep seeking it until they get it." He stopped, resting a palm on the table.

"Like Morgause," Leon muttered.

"Like her," Arthur confirmed. "Like Nimueh, the troll and goblin, even the Druids."

"But they've been held in check."

Arthur clasped his hands together on the table. "Some wish my demise, even seek it."

"You must be guarded at _all_ times." Leon's chastising stare increased Arthur's guilt for taking off alone without telling the man.

"A guard on _me_ doesn't mean attacks won't fall on my _people_ and we don't have enough men to protect every village and every town. I have two options—remove all magic practitioners from my kingdom permanently," more shifting in seats, "or pursue accommodations." He thought someone might speak then, object, and paused. After a moment, Leon broke the silence.

"And have you decided, sire?"

"I cannot let magic target me or my people any longer, and I _won't_ charge people who have done nothing wrong with criminal accusations."

"You...mean..." Gwen stammered.

"You're freeing Sefa," Gwaine blurted out. All eyes fixed on him, and Arthur allowed his lips to slip upwards at the man's expense as he leaned back once more to appear nonchalant despite the pink blossoming in his cheeks.

"I'll handle the girl's accusation tomorrow, but my decision isn't only about a dairy maid. I would have my people feel safe in my kingdom. _All_ my people. Even those who use abilities my father despised."

"You're freeing all sorcerers," Percival intuited.

"And high time, too," Geoffrey's rumbly voice declared from two seats down.

Silence descended long enough for Arthur to feel the weight of their stares. "No one has anything to say? Nothing you say here will lead to any consequence. You have my word."

"Arthur already has my full support," Lancelot spoke for the first time, his voice and eyes brimming with confidence in his king.

"And mine," Geoffrey chipped in.

Gwaine nodded at Arthur. "You know my mind, mate."

"There was a bad winter in my village once." Percival's low voice radiated across the table. "There was a hunter who went into the woods and returned with more meat, berries, and crops than we usually collected in the season. We refused to ask and we survived. He was arrested next summer for sorcery and we never heard of him again. I will support you, my king."

Arthur nodded once to the man, touched by the words and the story from one who rarely spoke unless it mattered. Arthur shifted to those who had been most steeped in attitudes against magic. "Elyan? Gwen? Leon?"

Elyan looked disconcerted. "I brought the girl here because I couldn't order her killed. The laws are clear, and I couldn't carry them out. I can't speak against this decision when my actions prove I don't believe the laws myself. Forgive me, my lord, for foisting on you my weakness."

"If you'd carried out the sentence, the girl would be dead for no good cause and even more innocent blood spilled on account of a misguided law. You did the right thing."

Arthur moved on from Elyan's grateful gaze, looking to Gwen who dropped her eyes. "Of course, my lord, I will accept whatever you do." Arthur's heart sank at her withdrawn tone, her curling in on herself. He had thought she'd be the most exuberant of all. Hadn't she said she couldn't stand by a man who would execute innocents? Surely this opened the door for her at his side once again.

Arthur turned reluctantly to Leon, the one of all here he hadn't been sure would accept this change. "I vowed my life to Camelot and to your father's reign. I accepted his words and laws and did as he commanded." The man fisted his right hand resting on the table, and Arthur's heart momentarily stopped. If Leon went against him, he could take half the army with him. In spite of the man's declared loyalty, Arthur well knew from his father's history that trusted knights and their kings could fall out to the detriment of whole kingdoms. "But I will not lie. When my hand enacted certain of King Uther's orders, sometimes I fought against myself." His voice fell to a whisper. "I have killed many an innocent, I fear."

The table went silent, no one daring to move or breathe.

"As have I," Arthur let the confession slip beyond his lips.

"Then if I am to make recompense, I can think of nothing better than to stand by my king."

Arthur reached out to his first knight, clasping his shoulder and giving it a hearty squeeze. "We will make this right."

"How will they ever trust us? Trust _you_?"

"Some already do." Gaius sat forward in his seat. "I practiced magic under Uther and renounced it when he demanded my vow. I was a coward."

"Gaius..." Arthur began to protest.

"Sire, I was indeed fearful of my life. I accepted too much. Spoke too little. And yet hoped for a day when a prince would prove a better man than his father. And he has. Here. Now. I declare my support of my king and take up magic once more without fear."

"Without fear," Gwen echoed, then shrunk back when attention landed on her. Her eyes rolled up to Arthur.

 _Trust me, Gwen, please!_

"Merlin." She popped up in her chair, her eyes piercing him. "Merlin should be here, too."

Arthur narrowed his gaze. Her expressions had often been books to him and he read now the truth with startling clarity. _She knows!_

"He's been more loyal than any of us."

Arthur thought that might be up for debate, but no one questioned her assertion. "I had thought to delay this," he murmured, but he had declared he would bring them into his confidence. "There _is_ more to my decision, much more. More than even I can explain adequately. Merlin...has magic."

For the first time, the table erupted into chaos as several exclaimed at once.

"The boy?"

"Agravaine was right?"

"But he's never done anything with it."

"The conniving little sod." That last was from Gwaine, who continued to grin as if every revelation was another sweet gulp of a wine he was already drunk on.

"How long have you known?" Arthur's question rang above them all, and Gwen became the center of attention once more.

She glanced at Elyan who stared at her with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Not...long." Then she set her jaw and nailed Arthur with her gaze. "Merlin is good. He's done good for you and me, all of us."

"I know."

"You...do?"

He nodded.

"And how long have _you_ known?" Leon uncharacteristically spluttered, shock etched on his face.

"I didn't know for sure until I went after him to Ealdor. When I saw him and I...shared his memory."

"You what?" Elyan interjected.

Arthur nodded slowly. "He came here because of me. To serve me because it's destiny."

Gwaine chortled. "Bugger me! I think I'm in a child's tale."

Arthur chuckled himself, thankful to the rogue for a heavy moment turned to levity. "Maybe it is a child's tale, only this one's real, and I swear, just as beyond my comprehension as yours. So let me tell it, and you can judge for yourselves."

* * *

Merlin roused from a dead sleep when a shivering magic thread tingled up his spine then bit down hard. His eyes flashed open to a pale, leering face mere inches from his own. The instant he yelped, a concussive force burst outwards, flinging both him and the interloper in opposite directions. He bumped and rolled over rough ground until slowing to a halt in the embers of a campfire.

"Merlin?" Balinor's groggy voice called out, then turned frantic. "Merlin!"

Merlin groaned, then screamed. Flames had burst to life on his jacket's right sleeve, searing his forearm. Balinor cried out as he dragged him from the embers and wrapped his arm with a cloak, smothering the blaze. The heat dissipated, but Merlin trembled at the stinging burn.

A triumphant laugh cackled in the darkness. Balinor stood over him, hand raised, crying out, "Show yourself!"

Hunched over on his knees and biting his lip close to bleeding, Merlin peered through his father's legs at a figure coming into focus at the edge of their camp, a dark form against weak moonlight until a chanted spell spilled a glow over her visage.

"Nimeuh!"

The former high priestess' feral grin matched the light flickering in her eyes. "So you are truly Emrys now. Does Arthur live?"

Merlin struggled to his feet to slide around Balinor, though his father gripped his shoulder and accused the sorceress. "You wounded him!"

" _I_ did nothing. Emrys displayed his raw power. Ah! What he can do now."

"Arthur does live," Merlin hissed through clenched teeth.

"I didn't expect you could kill him. He accepted you." She turned a circle, shrieking at the sky. "Uther Pendragon! Emrys is unleashed. Your retribution has just begun!"

"N-no," Merlin protested as Nimueh swiftly crossed to him, extinguishing her light, and shouting, " _Forbearnan_!" The fire crackled to life, illuminating the humble camp with an amber pallor. She pulled Merlin back down to his bedroll by his unwounded arm, not ungently, and began removing his jacket. Balinor squatted at his son's side.

"She didn't attack you?"

"I woke..." Merlin gasped. Nimueh let his jacket crumple to the ground.

"Off with your shirt," the elder woman commanded.

Merlin ignored tears pricking at the corners of his eyes to raise his arms so she could continue aiding him. Balinor joined in as well, but glared daggers at the sorceress.

"My magic," he hurriedly explained. "I was startled and it just reacted. I wasn't trying to hurt you." The apology was directed to Nimueh, who cast his blue shirt atop his jacket and inspected the livid red burn pulsing on his skin.

"I am not in pain," Nimueh replied. "Though you are. Pain, Emrys. Pain is power."

Merlin stared at her. "W-what?"

"Not now," Balinor grumbled. "We heal him first."

"His lessons should begin immediately."

"And you would teach him the ways of the high priestesses."

Nimueh scowled at his father. "I would teach him to wield his immense power. You can't possibly begin to comprehend what consumes him, _dragonlord_. I can."

Balinor ground his jaw and Merlin came to his father's defense. "Don't talk to him that way!"

Nimueh pushed to her feet. "If you wish me to go, I will." She turned.

"No!" Merlin desperately grasped the hem of her dress. "I need help! I can't control it. It keeps doing things and I'm going to hurt people."

Nimueh crouched down in front of him. "I won't coddle the greatest sorcerer of our age. If you wish my help, you will grow up and face what fate makes you!"

"If you hurt him..." Balinor's threat stalled when Merlin interrupted.

"No, she's right. Teach me, please. I'll do anything."

Nimueh's lips twisted upwards. "Then your first lesson is to own the pain. Establish its link to your soul."

"How?"

"Close your eyes. Concentrate on your wound."

Merlin did as she asked and cringed. He'd sidelined the pain somewhat in his desperation to stall Nimueh, but the whole of his focus on the burn increased its sparking sting, yet he sensed something else as well, an acidic tingling under its surface.

"Magic is drawn to your pain."

"I...feel it."

"Let it have what it lusts after."

A tremor shook him. "You mean...let the magic go?"

"Yes."

"I can't. It's dangerous."

Nimueh laughed softly. "That's the point, young Emrys."

He scowled at the laughter indicting his fear.

Nimueh's voice fell to a whisper. "You will never be what your king needs until you embrace who you are."

Merlin bit his lip. Arthur. He had to do this for Arthur. He grit his teeth as he let the smarting burn rule his mind and uncaged the acid tingle. He gasped. The burn intensified then branched out, connecting with his veins and zinging along his nerves until reaching his heart where his chest grew incredibly hot. He cried out and a violent wind whipped the camp for a few seconds before settling.

"You see," Nimueh spoke approvingly. "Pain, Emrys. Pain is the gateway to power."

* * *

Mordred blinked blearily when a hand shook his shoulder.

"Wake up," a voice demanded.

He rubbed at his eyes and viewing Morgause above him, groaned. "What do you want?"

The sorceress' lips pursed. "I am leaving."

Mordred sat up. "What?" She was draped in a cloak, the hood already pulled up for travel.

"I will return, but you must look after Morgana. Do not let her leave the safety of this camp."

"Where are you going?" He stood as the woman moved towards the entrance curtain of the makeshift room.

"To call upon our allies. I entrust Morgana to you." Her eyes burned a very real threat into his, though he didn't feel frightened in the least.

"Of course I'll watch out for her."

The high priestess' gaze turned tender when it alighted on her sister one last time then hardened as she drew back the hanging blanket and whisked away.

Mordred scratched at his curly scalp. Figured Morgause would take off in the dead of night. The hour was intuitive to him despite being hemmed in by a cave; he'd spent enough time in Druid camps similar to this one. He turned his attention to Morgana, staring for a moment at her slumbering form. He would protect her. Always.

He'd been sleeping next to her, curled up and swathed in a blanket, loathe to leave her after her agitation. He sidled close once more and lightly ran a hand over a dark, loosened strand of hair. She was so very beautiful...and so very misused. Like him.

A heavy breath escaped her lips, then her mouth opened and closed. Mordred let his hand slide to her shoulder and whispered, "Sleep well, Morgana." She stiffened and he jerked his hand back, afraid he'd disturbed her rest. He brow furrowed and she moaned. He laid a palm across her forehead, intending to infuse the same calming magic he'd utilized before when her eyelids shot open.

"Arthur!" Her green irises darted around wildly.

"It's okay..." he began, but she rounded on him, gripping his shoulder painfully.

"Where is he?"

Mordred pressed his hands to her temple, immersing her in peaceful waves. She shivered for a moment, but then settled, propped up by her pile of blankets. He smiled. "There's no Arthur. Not any more."

"What do you mean?"

"You're not in Camelot. You're safe. The king isn't here."

Morgana played her fingers across her lips. "King. Yes. Arthur is king..." Her voice broke and tears trickled down her cheeks.

"Morgana!" Mordred threw his arms around her and she clung to him, shaking with the force of her sobs.

"It was real...So real..."

"What?"

"Arthur...Lancelot...They were in danger."

Mordred scoffed. "I hope they died."

Morgana stiffened and pushed him away, her face whitening. "You wish their deaths?"

"Maybe not Lancelot. He did help me."

"But...Arthur..."

"Well, he'll _have_ to die."

Morgana shivered again and gathered a blanket around her shoulders, staring at him incredulously. "Arthur's not Uther."

Mordred snorted derisively. "He's just like him."

"Mordred. He..."

"He is!" He leaped to his feet, glaring down at her. "He gutted me! Just like they gutted her!"

Morgana gulped. "Your mother."

"He's killed Druids!"

"He did once. But he took you away from Camelot..."

"Because you asked him to! He would have given me to Uther if it was up to him!"

Conflict warred in Morgana's eyes. "I'm not sur..."

"He would!" He grasped the hem of his shirt, hauling the cloth upwards. "This! It hurt for ages. It still does sometimes. He did it!" A jagged, thin white scar decorated his side. He remembered the months of pain even though the Druids swore he'd healed. Most days it tormented him, digging into his side, sapping his strength.

"I think sometimes, he only thought us thieves that night. He..."

"No, Morgana! No! He doesn't deserve your defense. Ever! And he'll die. And you'll take the throne because if you don't, he'll wipe us all out! He'll gut you just like this!" He jabbed at his side, whirled on his feet, and tore through the blanket serving as a as door.

Mordred ignored the tears prickling his eyes and whoever he might disturb as he pounded through the camp. Damn Arthur Pendragon! Twisting Uther's ward, tricking her into considering him in any way good. Morgause had been right all along. She'd told him Morgana was so steeped in lies she'd never admit the truth until it hurt. Well, it was his turn. He'd show her once and for all the truth about the new King of Camelot.

* * *

"So, you and Merlin are _bonded_ somehow," Gwen clarified, focused on her king and the man she wouldn't admit she still loved.

"How does it work?" Elyan followed.

Arthur shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure and Merlin isn't either. He's going to find..." He broke off with a sharp intake of breath and flattened his palms on the table.

"My lord?" Leon was on his feet in less than a second.

Gaius rose as well, but Arthur waved him off, gritting his teeth and rigidly leaning back in his seat. "I'm fine," he breathed. He looked up at Leon. "Fine." He shook his head and pressed a hand to his chest. "That was stronger than usual."

"You have these episodes often?" Gaius inquired, still standing, worry creasing his brow.

Arthur actually smiled and only then did Gwen allow herself to relax. "I hadn't until Merlin." It's part of the bond. I can feel when Merlin does magic."

" _What_ do you feel?" Gaius asked, amazement widening his gaze.

"A double heartbeat and sometimes a tightening here." Arthur pointed over his heart. He ran a hand over his face, then stared at nothing, in awe himself. "I didn't think I'd be able to feel it this far away from him."

"Merlin healed me," Gwen spit out, then bit her lip at Arthur's sudden attention. She laid her right arm along the table and rolled her sleeve back.

" _He_ did it," Elyan spoke next to her. "You didn't tell me because you didn't want to endanger him."

Gwen nodded. Arthur stared, but a smile widened his mouth. "You're well. I didn't see that when I connected with Merlin."

Gwen pulled her arm back, curling it around her waist protectively. "Merlin is proof magic isn't all wicked."

"Yes, he is," Arthur echoed, and for the first time in a long time their eyes met without any barriers between them.

"I think all present trust this to be the truth," Geoffrey raised his voice. "The question now, my lord, is what you intend to do from this point forward?"

"If I have your support," Arthur began, but he paused when several vocal confirmations resounded around the table, Gwaine's "here, here" the loudest of all. "Then I will make you aware of my plans. Lancelot is to approach the Druids within a day and ask for a parley."

Predictably, Leon questioned the wisdom of this strategy, and for a time discussion turned to Arthur's safety and which knights should accompany him and could he even leave the citadel right now when he had just been crowned. Gwen failed to suppress her growing pride as she watched her new king skillfully navigate all concerns, though not as Uther once did, relying on manipulation. Arthur truly listened, responded thoughtfully, and at times even conceded a point. _This_ was the man she'd always hoped to behold, and she was certain if she declared her love, he would accept it once more. But she couldn't, not unless...

"My kingdom will rest in good hands," Arthur continued, "especially as I intend to assign three more faithful knights to its care. Elyan, Percival, Gwaine, I wish to bestow on you the honor of knighthood. You'll receive title, a parcel of land, and..."

"Do I have to train?"

Geoffrey grunted, looking askew at Gwaine as if he'd hurled the most disparaging insult at the king. Gwen hid her smile behind a hand.

Arthur chuckled. "There _will_ be obligations."

Gwaine sucked in a long-suffering breath. "Guess I'll teach the others a thing or two if I must."

"You'll start at the bottom."

"Not for long." Gwaine's twinkling eyes brought a grin to most faces, though Geoffrey continued to appear incensed on behalf of his king.

"You want them to trust you, Gwaine," Arthur reprimanded softly.

Gwaine's smile thinned and his reply was sincere. "They will. Eventually."

"Percival? Elyan?"

"I am more than honored," Percival answered succinctly despite the shock in his blue-eyed gaze.

"I'm honored, my lord, very much," Elyan responded, "but I'm unsure how I can be of use."

"You can swing a sword."

"But I'm nowhere as good as I need to be. I haven't practiced much, I..."

Gwen clasped her brother's hand under the table, encouraging this new man, his humility impressing her beyond words.

"That's why you'll train," Arthur explained. "But I'll want you for more than a soldier. You've handled the de Bois lands well. I'd like to assign you to a special council that will reassess the assets of my kingdom and give its recommendations."

Elyan stumbled over a reply. "I...My lord...I'm not worthy of..."

"You know the plight of the common man, something my councilors have little to no experience of. I don't doubt your suggestions will be honest and practical. Will you accept?"

Elyan nodded. "Of course, sire. It is my honor."

Arthur smiled broadly. " _I_ am honored. With all of you having my back, I'll fear less speaking to my council tomorrow."

"And if they don't accept what you say, what do you expect us to do?" Leon, ever the one to hone in on a threat to the king, questioned.

"I don't think you'll need to do anything." Arthur peered sideways at Gaius, Geoffrey, and Lancelot, sharing a nod.

"You have something up your sleeve," Gwaine grinned in earnest.

"I have a plan," Arthur admitted. "Besides," he looked to his first knight. "I'll have you there, Gaius, and Geoffrey."

More discussion ensued, Leon insisting on a full honor guard, Arthur protesting, but Gwen's thoughts had fled elsewhere. Arthur accepted Merlin. Arthur accepted _magic_. Her heartbeat kicked up and she pressed a hand to her pulsing neck. What about...

"Morgana." All talking ceased and Arthur's eyes shot to her, his pleasant humor vanishing in an instant. Everyone around the table froze and the next words tumbled out of her mouth before she could restrain them. "What about Morgana?"

Arthur ground his jaw. "Morgana made a choice."

Gwen forced away the urge to shut down at his change of mood. "She was manipulated by that witch, I'm sure, she..."

"Morgause is her sister!" Arthur's voice echoed throughout the entire library.

Gwen stared, wide eyed. Her _sister_?

Arthur looked away from her to his wringing hands. "Yes, her sister. She said it that day. She's betrayed us. Betrayed _me_."

Gwen regarded Lancelot, but he deliberately set his gaze in his lap. Anger flared. Shouldn't he of all of them speak up to defend his beloved?

"I...apologize," Arthur stammered, the words sounding like they had to be ripped from his throat. "She's left us. Not to return. I'm sorry, Gwen." He hurriedly spoke on. "I'd like to retire. I'm grateful to all of you for coming."

Most stood and bowed or said something like, "Thank you, sire," and in moments, Arthur was standing and thudding away. But Gwen couldn't let this go, not like she had before his vigil. Hadn't he just said he wanted them to speak openly to him? She followed behind him several paces and waited until they passed into a deserted hall before calling out, "My lord!"

He halted immediately, squaring his shoulders and twirling around to pin her with ice cold eyes. "I won't discuss this."

"Arthur, please. She didn't betray us."

"Gwen..."

"She wouldn't betray _you_."

"But would she my father?"

Gwen chewed her lip. She _had_ seen Morgana attacking Uther, but surely, surely that wasn't what it seemed to be. It couldn't be. "Why would she?"

Arthur replied through gritted teeth. "Because her _sister_ is a witch."

"I don't think..."

Arthur's hand was on her shoulder, squeezing a little too hard. "Do you know what she said to me?" he hissed. "She said my father was evil. He deserved it. And maybe he did. But she chose to let a witch attack him...me. I was almost executed and my father's dead."

"You can't abandon her."

"She abandoned me."

Gwen flinched. "You're hurting me, Arthur."

His hand jerked back. "Gwen...I didn't mean to...I..."

"I thought you wanted us to speak honestly," she accused, ignoring his protestations. "I know Morgana. She wouldn't turn on you."

Arthur's eyes closed. "She was more than your mistress. She was your friend." His eyes opened, full of a tenderness that would have broken her down if their argument were about anyone but Morgana. "I don't want to accept the truth anymore than you. It _hurts_ , Gwen. Too deep to even speak..." his breath hitched and he whispered. "After Mordred, she told me I would have her as an enemy if I ever did something to an innocent again. I didn't think it too much a threat then, but Morgause is her _sister_. She plotted a way to let her in. _She_ made me her enemy. Let this go." He turned from her, swiftly striding away.

"Guinevere."

She almost started crying at the kind, beckoning voice, but stayed where she was, watching the siff-backed king turn the corner. "She didn't betray us, Lancelot. I know she didn't."

"I want to believe that..."

She whirled on the knight. "Don't you? You know her. You _love_ her."

"I thought I knew her. And I do love her."

"Thought?"

"She didn't tell me about Morgause. Something was off and I didn't see it. If I'd known, I could have said something, changed what happened..." He broke off, closing his mouth and working his jaw.

"But what of the rumors? That she tried to stop the knights."

"I can't confirm it or deny it. And she left, Gwen. She told Merlin no one should look for her. That was her choice."

Gwen gripped his arm. "Go look for her. Find her. She'll tell you she didn't do this."

"Where? We couldn't find her the first time. If she doesn't _want_ to be found, she won't be."

"You're giving up on her." Gwen angrily dropped her hand.

"I made a vow to Arthur. I owe him my allegiance."

"Are you going to tell him she has magic?"

He didn't even seem surprised. "She told you."

"She _trusted_ me. Will you turn her in?"

Lancelot swallowed hard and glanced where Arthur had trod. "I...should."

"Don't! Please." She's clasped her hands together, begging, her pulse skyrocketing. "He'll think she'll use it against him."

She saw in his eyes he relented. "I won't make it worse for her until I know for certain."

"So you'll seek her."

"I wish it were possible, but there's no other way forward. Not now."

Gwen shook her head, stunned at the man's giving up the woman he loved so easily. She turned on her heel, rushing through citadel halls. She knew what she'd seen―Morgana with her hands on Uther, doing something to him. But that wasn't her. It couldn't have been. It was Morgause who caused all, and she was the only one who could see the truth. And now, Morgana would be left to her fate, to that witch's claws, because no one else was willing to stick their necks out for a woman they had known and loved.

Gwen slowed, mind whirling. No one but her. She was the only hope for her lost mistress. She ran, reaching the door to Morgana's chamber and flinging it open. She yanked open the wardrobe, withdrawing Morgana's traveling bag and stuffing all manner of items inside. If no one would do what was right, then she would, and to Hades with everyone else.

* * *

"Pain is the gateway to power? That sounds like a dark path." Balinor settled down next to Nimueh, noting her dirtied cornflower dress. He wasn't sure where the woman had gone after he last saw her, but he'd been too consumed with his own duties to care.

Nimueh toyed absentmindedly with a braid draped over her right shoulder, turning her face from the fire to the warlock slumbering with his back to them, curled protectively around an exhausted kestrel. Once Merlin's injury had been dealt with, she'd called to Nero and the bird eagerly revealed himself, fluttering out of the forest into the boy's hands. "Dragonlords," she chided. "Always too cautious. It's not a dark path."

"It's dangerous."

"Danger doesn't make it dark. If he carefully guards his way, he will be fine. And if anyone can control himself, it will be Emrys."

Balinor poked a stick into the fire, twisting it back and forth. "If pain is power, what about us? Our pain couldn't defeat Uther."

Nimueh peered back at the flames, eyes aglow, though Balinor wasn't certain whether they reflected the fire or surged with magic. "A double edged sword. Pain also weakens vulnerable flesh."

"You? Vulnerable?"

"Broken." She stared sideways at him. "Weren't you the same?"

Balinor withdrew the stick from the fire, studying the glowing red end and recalling a brand seared into his skin. "Yes."

"Uther," she spat the name in derision, "didn't break."

"Uther?"

"All his pain was turned to wrath and retribution."

"But he had no magic."

"Magic is life. Uther fed on the magic of the world, even if he possessed no skill to bend it. His anger overwhelmed us all."

"I don't understand. You were angry."

"Aren't you listening, dragonlord? I was _broken_. Shattered beyond repair. My strength left for years and did not return."

"I...didn't know. I assumed you fought from the shadows."

Nimueh scoffed. "Yes, the great Nimueh, a foe for Uther. A wretched lie."

"So...Merlin..."

"He will be strong. He will face the pain and he will not break."

Balinor's breath stalled in his throat. "You sense the possibility of his breaking? Even now that the king accepts him?"

Nimueh looked back at his son. "I do not have the gift of sight, but we would not need Emrys if desperate times did not lie ahead."

"But it's destiny," Balinor murmured, eyes glued to Merlin's rising and falling back. "He at the Golden Prince's side and the peace of Albion."

"And it may be peace comes through his suffering or his death."

"No." Balinor's eyes grew wet.

Nimueh suddenly reached out to grip his hand tightly. "He cannot break. He may suffer, he may die, but he can never break. This is what I teach him. It is what he must learn. Do not interfere with what must be."

Balinor stared into her tense eyes and bewailed that he would be the father of the long awaited savior of Albion. "Teach him," he breathed out, then bowed his head into his hands.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Finally the next chapter up. Holidays and an aggressive cold knocked me out for a while. Thank you to all for continuing to read, review, and message me!


	88. Reckoning

Arthur shuffled the stack of parchment in front of him, ignoring the contents. He'd skimmed each paper more than once this morning after a long night tossing to and fro. He'd barely eaten breakfast, then made for the council chamber, passing by his father's chambers on the way to ponder its doors. He didn't doubt the righteousness in what he was about do, yet a part of his will still balked at dishonoring all he'd been taught, especially so soon after losing his father. But there was a young woman in his dungeon who couldn't languish there any longer.

"I'm sorry, father," he'd muttered, swallowing grief threatening to rise and marching away, chin lifted high. For almost an hour he'd paced back and forth in the council chamber like a horse anticipating battle. Now he stood in front of his chair fighting nerves. In but moments, he might lose these men awaiting the start of the meeting, men who had supported his father and so far accepted him. His eyes found Gaius who nodded encouragement. Geoffrey sat at the end of the table, farthest away, one hand resting on several books in front of him. All the councilors had raised their brows at the presence of the librarian. His father had rarely called for Geoffrey.

Arthur's gaze traveled to Leon. The knight had planted himself in front of the double doors after the last councilor arrived, hand on his sword hilt as if he anticipated the possibility of needing to defend his king. Arthur prayed it wouldn't come to that but was well aware that when men met their own lies and failings, they sometimes lashed out with defensive instinct...like his father.

All murmurings fell silent when Arthur cleared his throat. He stood as tall as possible, hoping he appeared imposing. He could at least appreciate his father's lessons in bearing—"Act like their god and they will fear you." He didn't desire their fear but there was wisdom in presenting himself as a person expecting to be heard and respected.

"I know many of you wish to present issues of concern that must be considered for the good of my kingdom," he began, affecting the royal speech patterns he'd been instructed in from the age of seven. "I intend to hear each of you out, but there is a more pressing matter we must attend to first—the girl accused of magic use."

"My lord," Lord Arnott predictably entreated first.

"You may speak."

"We understand your desire not to do what your people may find...unpleasant to enact with their own hands. However, just like your father, the king must often undertake what his people might find distasteful."

"I agree," Arthur stated succinctly. The councilors glanced at each other, several in surprise.

"Then you understand, sire, why it is that we were reluctant to carry out a sentence that was not our place to enact."

"I understand," Arthur said. Several of the councilors visibly relaxed, stiffened postures melting. "It _is_ the king's duty to judge and condemn and to do what his people may not."

Lord Arnott smiled smugly, sitting back in his seat as if he'd just won the pot in a game of chance.

"And since my people have no say in the laws against magic, then it is up to me to judge their morality."

Lord Arnott's face fell, and several of the councilors looked at Arthur with worried countenances.

"Your father protected his kingdom from evil," Lord Arnott blustered.

"He did," Arthur conceded. "Those that employed magic for evil were properly dealt with, but we must consider, should we not, if _all_ use of magic is evil."

"Of course it is!" Lord Arnott blurted, echoed by other verbal agreements.

Arthur looked to Geoffrey and held out his hand. "I would like to yield to our learned librarian."

Geoffrey hefted his bulk from his chair and cracked open a ledger in front of him. "Lord Arnott, payment of 25 coin for the seeding of his crops by one Otelin Foury."

Arthur grit his teeth against the laughter that might have exploded at the lord's open mouth and drained face.

"Further 30 coin for the healing of a plague of sheep scab on a flock." Geoffrey's finger slid to the next entry. "Lord Millin, 20 coin for the salvaging of a dried well."

One by one, each lord's eyes lowered or at least darted away from their king's scrutinizing gaze as their names were read aloud, Geoffrey switching a ledger here or there or grabbing a parchment to enumerate the many ways they'd taken advantage of magic. Finally, as if he could contain it no longer, Lord Arnott spluttered.

"My lord! These...these were lost... were..."

"Burned to ashes," Arthur finished for the man. "Or so you thought. But you see, this was not so."

Lord Arnott glanced wide eyed from Arthur to Geoffrey. "King Uther..." He shut down, lips pinched together, retaking his seat. Arthur read confusion and betrayal in his councilors' expressions. They thought his father had kept the records as leverage against them.

"These records were preserved from my father's orders without his knowledge." Several glared accusingly at Geoffrey, and Arthur hurried on to spare the faithful man. "And if they had not been saved, I would not know the truth. This council down to every man owes much of his wealth to _magic_."

No councilor dared speak as they twisted in their seats, those with enough shame left going red in the cheeks.

Arthur widened his stance, feet shoulder width apart, hands behind his back. "Before my father enacted laws against all magic, he reaped its rewards as did each of you. Magic participated in the prospering of our kingdom. We respected the skills of sorcerers. They were neighbors and friends and some perhaps even family. Do any of you deny you chose to avail yourself of magic when it was convenient to do so?"

What could his councilors do but stare at each other with fleeting glimpses of their guilt? Lord Arnott didn't even look up, his darkened eyes focused on a list of grievances laying forgotten before him.

Arthur softened his tone. "I do not condemn you. You were loyal to my father. Many of you fought at his side and your support is duly appreciated and lauded. The Pendragon throne could not have endured without your guidance. I value each of you and I do not wish to lose a man here. But there are some laws that must come to an end."

"My lord." Arthur noted the councilor that spoke, one that had swung a sword next to his father when the previous tyrant king had been removed, though he had become a quieter, gray-haired man that spoke little. Still, Arthur well knew he carried the undying respect of every man at the table. "The days were dark when your father bound sorcerers with a law prohibiting magic. Magic did some good, as you say, but it began to rule our streets, destroy our homes, kill our subjects. Your father had no choice."

Arthur let a thin smile respond to Lord Jost's statements. He didn't speak as if lecturing but gently explaining why his father had done what he had. Yet he was still wrong. "He had a choice," Arthur contradicted, bending forward to place flattened palms on the table and meeting each eye that dared connect with his. "You _all_ had a choice. Punish evil, preserve good. Lord Arnott!"

The lord dragged his guarded gaze to his king's. "Sire."

"Was seeding your land a harm?"

Arnott's jaw clenched and unclenched. He glanced around the table and bowed his head. "No."

"And Lord Millin, was salvaging your well an evil?"

The lord shifted in his seat, sucking his lips in agitation before he answered. "I could not call it so."

"Each of you employed magic, good magic, wielded by those wishing prosperity on my kingdom. So what of the dairy maid?" Arthur straightened and thrust his hand toward the doors. "Do I punish her for increasing her cow's milk yield to _survive_? Do I tie her to a stake? Burn her? Tell me what I must do!"

Silence reigned for a full minute, each member fidgeting all the more as the seconds ticked past.

"If..." Lord Arnott swallowed, "we give her the opportunity to renounce..."

Arthur broke in. "Why? What good does this do? Her cow yields less and she starves. Would you ask her to starve when she could save herself, her father, perhaps her village?"

More uncomfortable glances until Lord Jost's unwavering answer. "We could not ask her, my lord." Astonishment from several councilors, but the lord looked to Gaius. "Gaius, do you remember the red plague?"

Gaius nodded. "I could not forget it."

"How many dead?"

"The final count as we knew it, one hundred thirteen in our capital alone."

Lord Jost nodded slowly. "One hundred and thirteen dead. Until our physician and another at his side developed a potion imbued with magic to save us. My own son..."—Jost coughed against a choked up throat—"I owe him to you, Gaius. To Alice. To magic. Our king is right. We prospered, then turned on those who aided us to preserve our own skins."

"Jost," Lord Arnott began to protest.

"No." His brow pulled downwards and his tone hardened. "This is the truth. We even derided Lord Ruadan when he fled. This is our shame. How many of you are brave enough to bear it?"

Arthur stared in awe at Lord Jost. Never had he expected such impassioned support and from the one at the table who mattered perhaps more than all.

Jost set determined gray eyes on him. "Free the girl, my king. I will stand with you."

Slowly, several other councilors muttered their own assent, but some, like Lord Arnott, continued to keep silent.

Arthur inhaled a long, silent breath and finally settled into his seat. "She will be pardoned, but there is more we must do. I seek your collective wisdom. Not all usage of magic will be allowed in my kingdom. What is evil must be held in check and what is good freed. The laws on magic must be rewritten. And we will start today."

* * *

Merlin pondered his arm as ice cold river washed over the limb from his cupped hand. The burn was hardly noticeable now, just a tinge of pink, new skin thriving where the wound had marked him. The magic that had tingled underneath it was gone and try as he might, he couldn't coax it back. _Pain is the gateway to power_ , Nimueh's voice echoed in his head, her words terrifying him to the bone.

"Merlin!"

The warlock shook out his wet hair at his father's call. "I'm coming!" He quickly gathered up his jacket and shirt and winced when claws alighted on his bare shoulder. He knocked his head lightly against the kestrel's latching on. "Not so tight."

When he stepped back into their camp, his father set a bowl in his hands. The grainy porridge was welcome. He dropped his jacket on the ground and gently settled Nero into it, then shrugged into his shirt. He sat down next to the bird, spooning breakfast into his mouth, trying to ignore the woman perched on a log on the other side of the fire, staring at him and eating so slowly he wasn't surprised she was still so skinny. After a few spoonfuls, he gave up, too many questions battering his thoughts.

"What do you mean pain is the gateway to power? You mean with pain I can control my power?" His heart kicked up a notch, imagining the magic trying to dominate and him bashing himself with something just to corral it.

Nimueh smiled far more tenderly than he'd expected after she'd declared last night she wasn't going to coddle him. "I mean, Emrys, you will face pain. Physical, mental, stresses, annoyances. All of these are a natural part of life. Magic heightens at such times. Don't you feel it? Something hurts, something bothers, and you can think of nothing else. It intrudes, takes over. Such times, when life is so agitated, provide an inroad to the magic around us."

"But why aren't all people magic then?" he asked before sticking more porridge in his mouth.

"Not all can access the stream of life. I have no answer for why. Many have tried to find a reason for it, but have failed. The fact remains we exist. Common people, they sense magic sometimes, something just beyond their sight they cannot touch but feel just the same."

Merlin chewed his lip. There were times his magic had surged in power even before the completed bond, like when Arthur had been whipped and he'd had to stop the troll. Just thinking of Arthur in pain and in danger had given him the power to spell the lute. He supposed he must have forged a path between his own mental distress and magic.

"You are unique," Nimueh spoke further. Merlin stopped worrying his lip and stared at her. "I can access some power, you can access more. The entire world calls to you, responding to you, yearning to offer up its life. That is what you feel now."

Merlin gulped. The whole world? All life everywhere? "How do I stop it?"

"Stop it? That's the wrong question. How do you harness it. Make it do what you want when you want."

"Em...Well... how?"

Nimueh set her bowl down and fixed him with a grumpy frown. "You stop being afraid and let it in."

"And is that wise?" Balinor's voice intruded and Merlin found himself grateful he'd been spared replying to Nimueh, ashamed to admit he was absolutely petrified of such a prospect.

"He will have to do it some time."

"But what if he can't harness it?" Balinor asked and Merlin caught the tremor in his father's question.

Nimueh sighed. "I wish I had my sisters. We would surround him. Use our combined strength to shield possible failure."

Merlin perked up, sitting straighter. "The Druids."

"What of them?"

"They have magic. They could help."

Nimueh snorted scornfully. "Druids. Hiding away claiming peace. Their elders too scared to do what must be done. They will be no help to you."

"High priestess prejudice," Balinor spat. "Always thinking your ways superior."

Nimueh stood to face him. "Can you deny they did nothing to help in our time of need?"

"They're peaceful, yes," Balinor agreed. "It's their way. But that doesn't mean they lack strength. Some were even more powerful than you back then and some might be even still."

Nimueh scowled, planting her hands on her hips, turning back to Merlin. "Don't waste your time on foolish Druid philosophy."

"I don't think they're foolish," Merlin argued, anger flaring. The fire suddenly flashed, a great gust of flame zipping skywards. Nimueh stepped backwards and both she and his father looked to him. Merlin felt the magic burst retreating back inside his skin. He tried to quench his fear. This had to stop. "Where else will we find a bunch of sorcerers to help me?"

"They move around," Nimueh argued.

"That's okay," Merlin said. "When we meet Arthur at the border, he'll know where they are."

Nimueh's eyes rounded, going from him to Balinor.

"King Arthur is going to parley with them," his father explained. "He's picking us up on his way. He wanted us to find you so you could help Merlin."

Nimueh firmed her jaw. "So you already planned to go to the Druids and force me along."

"Please come with us," Merlin implored.

"I don't think anything I say will make a difference. If this bond is as strong as the first one, nothing I do will keep you away from the king."

"The first one?"

Nimueh bent down to pick up her bowl still mostly full, chortling. "Did you think you were the first to bond like this? But you are only the second in Camelot's history. And I pray your own story does not end as theirs did."

"How did it end?" Merlin asked, bowl quivering in his hand.

"Death, Emrys. Death for both the warlock and the king."

* * *

Gwaine leaped a wooden obstacle blocking his path, caught sight of his opponent, and swung the stave in his deathgrip with as much force as he could. His quarterstaff was thrust back for the umpteenth time, and his shoulder ached against the constant jarring. He longed to rub it but didn't dare drop his weapon. Wretched unwieldy thing! And they insisted he get good with this before he was allowed to train with the practice swords? Complete tosh!

Even more ridiculous, they'd wheeled out this revolving training platform mounted with a pole in its middle, solid rods jutting out from it at head and foot height. He could barely sight his opponent with all the ducking and leaping, much less get a hit in. The exercise was a useless waste of time. No one really fought like this! Give him an alley and a set of thugs and he'd show these silver spoonfed nobles true skill.

Gwaine ducked, then cursed when the other contender chose that moment to launch an attack. He bungled, smacking his quarterstaff against the center pole as he popped back up. The enemy stave cracked against his knuckles. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the grinning faces of the rest of the knights, even Percival with that thin smirk most would mistake as expressionless. He could read that _damned_ thing quite well.

Gwaine leaped, balanced, ducked, swung, a flurry of movement that felt pitiful even to him. His opponent met the hit, knocked his stave aside, and aimed for his chest. Gwaine sidestepped another obstacle, braced the quarterstaff across his chest to defend, missed the change in direction, and heaved a great "oof" when his legs were swept out from under him instead. The sky spun above him as he tried to regain his breath, slowing as the rotating platform was brought to a standstill.

An open gloved hand appeared above him, Sir Lucan, the victor, offering him aid. The knight wasn't grinning in satisfaction so he accepted the offer, though he released the hand immediately when he was on his feet.

"A beginning, Sir Gwaine. You have the heart and will. We'll have to concentrate on the skill and mind."

Gwaine's cheeks flared hot and he tried to ignore the snickers of those reveling in his defeat. They'd held grudges, presumably, against the man who last week hadn't even been a knight when he bested every willing challenger with his sword.

"Sir Lucan!" a voice called. Gwaine, still breathing heavily and rubbing a shoulder he was sure was quickly going black and blue, beheld Leon approaching.

"Sir Leon," Sir Lucan greeted, dismounting the training platform, Gwaine following.

"King Arthur calls for a contingent of men for a special mission." Leon's eye flicked to Gwaine briefly. Of course. He'd come for the knights that would accompany Arthur to the Druids. Gwaine smirked even as he flexed his right hand to assure nothing had broken. The other knights' laughing grins would wipe off their faces when he was included, handpicked by their king, and they were left behind. "Here is the list of those he wishes." Leon handed Sir Lucan a parchment.

"Very well. Fall in!"

Gwaine stiffly took his place in the block of knights. These weren't all of the knights Camelot boasted, but those in this company were Arthur's closest; Gwaine had heard through the grapevine every man here had stood at attention in an ice cold hall an entire night simply out of honor for their new king's vigil over his father's body.

Sir Lucan called six knights to step forward before crying out, "Sir Percival!"

There were some surprised side glances at one of the freshest knights earning such an honor already. Gwaine grinned haughtily. Just you wait...

"You will pack and be ready on the morrow to join your king. Training is ended for the day. You are dismissed."

Gwaine didn't move, rooted to the spot as the knights dispersed around him. It wasn't until a hand grabbed him on his less sore shoulder he became aware the training yard had practically emptied.

"Are you troubled over your loss?" Percival inquired. "Sir Lucan says the quarterstaff is a far different skill than a sword, requires a looser body and a greater sense of using your space."

Gwaine shoved Percival's hand away. "I don't care about losing."

Percival didn't chuckle, but Gwaine heard the barely restrained laughter in his reply anyway. "You always have. Cursing a blue streak whenever someone got a cut in."

Gwaine ignored his friend, stomping up to Sir Leon once again in possession of the list. "What about me?" he demanded, planting himself in front of the man with hands on his hips.

"Sir Gwaine. Walk with me." The first knight turned on his heel and took off. Percival shrugged at Gwaine, who set his jaw and ran to match Leon's stride.

"I should be with Arthur when he goes to the Druids."

"King Arthur," Leon reprimanded without the courtesy of a glance. "You are his knight now and his proper address is 'King'."

"Seriously?"

Leon stopped and grabbed his pulsating shoulder causing him to stop short, grimace, and whine. "These are not games. We aren't children playing to see who is better than another. We work together, push each other so every last man is his best. That's what makes us the highest asset of our _king_."

Gwaine stared unblinking at Leon and when the knight released him resisted sheltering his shoulder.

Leon's tone softened. "You're a skilled warrior, but you have more to learn."

"Fighting with a stick? Who carries that kind of weapon?"

"Common foot soldiers. One good hit and they can crack a man's skull to the brains. Perhaps that is worth such skill?"

Gwaine scowled. "I have my sword. I don't need to learn the stave."

Leon gestured to his side and started walking again, faster. Gwaine caught up. "Why do you think King Arthur commanded Sir Lucan to put you on the quarterstaff platform?"

"Arthur did?"

Leon shot him withering glance.

" _King_ Arthur. Because he's a..." Leon's unyielding warning expression choked down any derisive term his mind was in the midst of conjuring up. He shrugged instead.

"Because he knows what you lack and if you manage to get some, perhaps you'll be better for it."

Gwaine sniffed and asked sarcastically, "And what must I get, prey tell?"

"Humility. The knowledge you aren't as great as you think."

"I don't think I'm..."

"Did you hate to lose?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Why?"

"I just...well...because I'm better than the rest of...them." Heat rose in Gwaine's cheeks again as he heard himself for the first time in a long time.

"Not in quarterstaves though, hm? They aren't your competitors, Sir Gwaine. They are your brothers, and you'd do best to let them teach you what you don't know and not rebuff them with your omniscient divinity."

They had reached the castle halls by now and Leon stopped, pointing to the end of one where Arthur stood gripping a rolled parchment.

"Your king awaits." Leon paced back the other way.

Gwaine slunk down the hall, brain whirling. He wasn't arrogant. He was just...sure of his skill. He was better with a sword. _But you lost the quarterstaff match_. Now the smirks the knights had been sending him caused his ears to burn uncomfortably. They saw him as a braggart, an enemy. As he reached the king his heart had plummeted to the bottom of his boots. No wonder he hadn't been picked to go along. Who'd want a man the other knights despised?

"Sir Gwaine," King Arthur nodded to him. "Leon told you why I asked for you?"

"I suppose a lecture," Gwaine mumbled under his breath.

"Lecture?"

Gwaine looked up. "Say what you must, sire." He could take another tongue lashing, especially from Arthur.

"He didn't say then." Arthur smiled. "I have a commission for you. I need you to do something for me while I am away from the city."

He turned to walk and Gwaine paralleled him. "A commission?"

"Here. Read this."

Gwaine unrolled the sheaf of parchment, reading as he walked. "The pardon," he breathed.

"I want you to give it to the girl and her father." Arthur stopped in front of the door to a chamber reserved for important guests. "And I want you to watch over them. Unless you are training, you will be here. I'm not confining them to this room alone, but there may be those who don't understand why I've let a sorceress go. My council may submit in word, but I'm not certain they will in deed."

"You're not sending them back to Agravaine's holdings?" Gwaine's heart had traveled back up from his boots and thumped giddily.

"To a place where they'd face possible retaliation? No. They'll stay here. I owe Lord Ruadan that much. I'll know better my options for them after I meet with the Druids. Until then, I assign their comfort and care to you."

Gwaine stared at Arthur, eyes alight. He hadn't been excluded after all. In his wisdom, King Arthur had intuited the best place for him. Gwaine's mouth fell to a smaller smile. That meant he could trust the man. And if Arthur started him with the quarterstaff, if Arthur wanted him to learn humility, if Arthur expected him to become a brother to the knights, then that's what he would do.

"It is my honor, my lord," he acquiesced sincerely, hand to his chest.

* * *

Morgana had pulled herself together, ticking off a morning routine like she had in Camelot and trying not to picture nor desire Gwen's gentle hands adjusting her purple dress, tattered but cleaned by her sister, and styling her long dark tresses. She was grateful for the lack of a mirror; she feared the disheveled, harrowed woman she might see reflected back at her. She'd taken a short jaunt to the camp fires seeking Mordred or Morgause, but neither was there. The scrutinizing gazes of the men drove her quickly back to her makeshift room. They must consider her deranged after she'd run from fire to fire clothed only in a shift. There were no distractions and she daren't move any deeper into the caves, so she did the only thing available to her—pacing back and forth in her tiny personal space.

Her eyes fogged and she wiped at them, cursing her weakness. Once, she had been strong. She'd taken on Arthur and bested him. She'd bandied wit like arrows striking the center of a target. She'd twisted the king around her finger. All that had happened in the last week—two?— had reduced her to a hallucinating, discarded waif.

The dream. Arthur and Lancelot, sweat laden, exhausted, battling faceless foes...dying. Arthur and _her_ Lancelot. She spun the bracelet at her wrist. She shouldn't have dreamt a vision, couldn't, right? Or was her gift so twisted it defeated even the enchantment? Or was it something else, a warning that she'd joined an unholy alliance?

Morgana raked fingernails across her neck, ignoring the pain of the scratch but needing to feel something tangible. She'd suffered another vision come to pass. Uther was dead. She hadn't mourned him. Arthur would have, kneeling next to his body in the grand hall. In the crystal cave, she'd seen herself at his side, holding the prince who had been brother, guilt in her eyes. She _had_ been Uther's doom. She'd weakened his body, essentially prepared him for Morgause's attack. But the vision hadn't transpired fully. Uther had died, but she hadn't held Arthur. Instead she had fled.

The same had happened with her vision of the tournament, what she'd seen not the full extent of what took place. Arthur hadn't died. She scrubbed at her forehead. What use was such a _gift_ ,as Aglain called it, if it wasn't even accurate? What use was she? She was nothing but a curse, a harbinger of ill will.

Morgana sank to her pallet burying her head in her knees. Morgause, Mordred, these Druids, they would see Arthur dead. Would rip away his kingdom and thrust it on her. She didn't want it. Never. Not if it took killing Arthur to get it. She hadn't confessed the entirety of her dream to Mordred. After seeing Arthur and Lancelot struck down, briefly she'd beheld herself occupying Camelot's throne. If she stayed here, they would get their revenge through her. The other visions had faltered, so if this was a vision, there had to be a way to stop it from coming to pass. What had changed her other visions? Had she done something that influenced the outcomes? What could she do now? She pulled at the strands of her hair, yanking till her scalp stung.

The entrance sheet rustled and she looked up, unsure how much time had passed. Mordred had entered, piercing blue eyes fixed on her as he stood aside to make way for three other Druids, one old man and two younger. "I brought you proof."

Morgana frowned. "Proof?"

"If what _Arthur_ did to me isn't enough, then listen to them."

The older Druid, hair long, gray, partially braided in two strands on each side of his temple, flinched and looked sideways at the younger men—boys, really. One on the cusp of manhood, the other probably a year into it. "These are my grandsons. Three years ago, I took them fishing. We didn't need the food stores, but we enjoyed the time together..." His breath hitched.

The older boy reached out to grip his sleeve and looked to Morgana, his expression dark and fierce. "When we returned to the camp, we found them all dead. Every man and woman and child. _Murdered_ by Camelot knights."

Morgana counted backwards. Three years...when Arthur had left on his first Druid raid and come home with Merlin.

"They slaughtered them!" the young man declared.

Morgana feebly replied. "I'm...sorry."

"Our mother," the younger boy spoke up, chin shaking, "I found her. She was...She..." He turned away to his grandfather who cupped a hand around the boy's head and pulled him into his chest.

"A sword driven through her right eye. Her skull crushed.." The old man drew himself up. "Their father...They burned the bodies of the men...Prince Arthur led the raid."

Morgana stared at Mordred, hand on her neck, pulse thrumming. She'd hated Arthur for going on that raid, had told him before he left. But she'd let it slide because what else could she expect from him? He was a prince, had to follow his father, the king. They'd decided not to let such things come between them, enjoy their sibling friendship without involving their differing views.

Nausea overwhelmed her. She turned aside, hand to her mouth, gagging on bile. Her face grew hot and clammy. Images played themselves past her eyes in rapid succession—Arthur practicing with his sword, Arthur riding out on patrols, Arthur stabbing through a woman's skull... No! It wasn't him. Couldn't be him. Not the Arthur who'd embraced and comforted her throughout the years, joked with her, secretly rode off to save Merlin's village, carried Mordred out of the citadel in own arms to spare his life, bore the scars of standing up to Uther.

Mordred spoke from above her. "Arthur is a liar. A murderer. Stop defending him. He can't stay on the throne, Morgana. You know it."

She whirled around, staring across at the old Druid holding one grandson and the other still thrusting daggers at her with his eyes. Her chest constricted, she couldn't breathe. She had to get out. Away. Forever. She bolted, dashing across to the sheet and ripping it aside.

"Morgana!" Mordred shouted after her. She quickened her pace, running, passing Druid men surely wondering what the high priestess' crazy sister was up to now. Get out. She had to get out. Out of this nightmare that had her by the throat, strangling, crushing, wringing every last breath out of her body.

She left the cave, scrabbling up a steep incline, sucking in shallow breaths of fresh pine air that barely made it to her lungs. Her sight swam with stars when she toppled forward at the edge of a drop off. She rolled onto her side, heaving, weeping. Out. Get out. Forever. She heard a distant cry—Mordred, drowned out by a roaring rush of water. She turned on her stomach and crawled to the edge of the cliff.

What would usually count as a beautiful sight caught her breath for a wholly different reason. She'd collapsed near a river, water spilling from its end, gushing into a basin hundreds of feet below to continue its flow. But she hardly noticed the waterfall for the man rising from the basin's churning waters, curly haired, hand beckoning, mouth moving. It didn't matter she couldn't hear him over the roar of the water. She knew he uttered her name.

Morgana stared, everything suddenly coming clear. She knew who he was. A figure from stories and tales, who appeared just at the right time for people to bow out of the narrative, the specter of death itself. She shakily stood, watching his mouth open and close, calling her again and again. Out. This was the way out. Go to him and all the pain and grief and indecision and terror of what might come would be no more.

Morgana's feet left the edge without hardly a thought and she didn't even scream when the rushing waters rose up to meet her.

* * *

Morgause had hesitated before entering the dank hole carved into the ground. Just as before, the stench served as a warning of the dangers inside, keeping both men and animals from braving the descent. But she had done it once before and was as desperate now as she had been then.

Reaching the bottom, she ignored the rotting corpses—fish, birds, small mammals—navigating by the glowing crystals exposed over time on the walls of the tunnels. They were most likely what had attracted the creature that dwelt below. The high priestesses used to mention her, weaving various explanations for her origin into terrifying tales to tantalize their charges. Some claimed she used to be one of them but had gone insane when she'd exchanged her humanity for the mind a carnivorous beast. Others made her a Druid rejected for her mania and gone wild without their community. Still others described an unnatural being created when a sorcerer attempted to birth a child without a womb. Morgause didn't care if any of these were true. No matter how she came to be, it was clear the high priestesses feared her existence and the power she wielded. Every tale ended with a warning—no one should seek her out unless they had nothing left.

Morgause scowled as she paced ahead. She'd had something left when she'd come here, but she'd needed more than her own talents to get it back. Now she had it, but the cost had been great.

"Who comes?" a hoarse, grating voice rumbled down the tunnel. A crouched figure had appeared, shuffling forward.

Morgause stopped and waited. _She_ did not fear what all others cowered away from. The figure, naked, pallid, skeletal, eyelids grown shut and crusted with disuse, came to a halt in front of her, sniffing, jerking this way and that. Human? Perhaps once, but hardly now.

"Ah...The high priestess."

"Morgause."

The creature grasped at her with clawing fingers. "Is he dead?"

"The king is dead."

The creature shook with delight, letting her go and dancing chaotic patterns on stick legs, the wispy tendrils of dead hair attached to her skull whipping back and forth.

"But his son lives."

The creature stopped abruptly, latching onto her once more. "Arthur Pendragon is alive?"

"He will not live much longer. I will see to it."

"If our bargain is not kept..."

"It _will_ be. You will have your reward. Down to every last man." Morgause pursed her lips. She hadn't been entirely pleased with the bargain she'd struck. She'd kept her deal secret from the kings in her alliance—a portion of Camelot's lands would be reserved for the creature and fifty men given into her keeping to do with as she liked.

"Why do you seek the Dochraid?"

"I used the spell."

"It served you."

"But..." Morgause tightened a fist. "My magic...I cannot sense it."

The Dochraid cackled, backing away from her. "You were warned."

"And the king is dead. I accept the cost, but I cannot kill the king's heir without magic."

The Dochraid crouched to the ground, hands plunging into the earth. She withdrew them, an earthworm wriggling in her grasp. Morgause ignored the repulsion when the thing stuffed the slimy body into her mouth.

"Did you hear what I said?"

The Dochraid sat back on her haunches. "It's gone."

Morgause took a step forward, forcing back the panic that had been threatening to overwhelm her ever since she'd realized her magic had left her entirely. "I must have it back."

The cackling sounded once more and the creature launched itself at her, its bony fingers twining into her hair, yanking her head back. Morgause yelped as she pitched backwards to the ground and the creature sat upon her, pinning her arms with an unnatural strength. Its face thrust into hers, pungent breath spitting into her face. " I smell fear... Yes... You are afraid."

"I'm..."

"You do what others will not." The Dochraid let go her arms, running its fingers over her cheeks. "You could be mine..."

Morgause fought not to show her terror. She'd bargained herself if she failed to eliminate the king and his son, a strange request she'd thought at the time, why such a creature would ask for her life in return for a spell's power that rendered an entire castle inert. "I will kill the heir. Return my magic."

"Your connection is gone. You cannot get it back." Morgause tried not to tremble, but must have failed for the Dochraid petted her hair and spoke softly. "Poor child. My child. There is, still, one way."

"How?"

The Dochraid crawled off her and Morgause breathed free again. The creature gripped her hand as she sat up. "Take another's connection."

"Use...another's magic?"

"I can teach you." The creature muttered words even Morgause couldn't understand, but a rat was suddenly streaking down the tunnel and into the Dochraid's hands. She held it tightly between her palms, then set it down and it lay on its side. The Dochraid held out her hand and her palm sparked with white energy. The rat struggled drunkenly to its feet. "Its life...my power."

Morgause stared. How had she not been taught this before? Taking magic from another body. There were people everywhere. How easy it would be to...

The Dochraid snickered. "You think this a simple thing. You cannot take without a bond."

"Bond?"

The Dochraid stuck her hands into the dirt again. "The earth speaks to me. The forgotten below. We are one." Morgause scooted back when insects slithered from the dirt, sightless, pale bodies scurrying to surround the Dochraid. "This cannot be for you. You must choose a sorcerer with enough power for both of you."

Morgause crinkled her brow. Who would do this for her? Give themselves up to her? Who was strong enough? Her eyes rounded. "Emrys."

The Dochraid scrambled to her feet, scuttling backwards. "Do not speak that name!" It spat in the dirt.

Morgause stood."You know Emrys?"

The creature wailed. "Doom! Doom!"

"But he _is_ supposed to be strong."

The Dochraid flung itself at her, clawing, begging. "Leave Emrys be."

Morgause slowly nodded, but smiled internally. If even this creature was terrified of Emrys, he must have the potential for much power indeed, power she could use to return her own. "Teach me how to take magic."

The Dochraid gripped her hand, stroking it reverently. "Come. Come."

Morgause let the thing lead her deeper into the cave, ignoring the dim warning bells in her ears. She'd come too far to give up now.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : I know some of you have been eagerly awaiting the Druid meeting. We're so close now. Next chapter they're headed that way and when they get there, you're probably guessing it won't go as easy as they think. Nothing can be as simple as it seems, not with rogue Druids, a false Emrys, and the simmering of a lifetime of injustice in the way.


	89. Tipping Point

Arthur swayed rhythmically forwards and back, caught in the cadence of his steed's leisurely pace. They'd pushed hard for some time until their horses required a lengthy reprieve. He glanced to his side and back, taking stock of his retinue. Most had no idea exactly where they were headed, but he was certain of the loyalty of the men he'd chosen. As he twisted back around to face east, towards the border of Essetir, his heart took a little leap.

Emptiness had assailed his soul the last three days. Busyness had camouflaged it during the day, but at night, when he lay alone in bed, staring up at the canopy, alternately thrilling and worrying at the changes to come, did the lack of his scribe—warlock—trouble him acutely. He desired nothing more than seeing Merlin on the border, safe and well. He'd derived some assurance from the double heartbeat that occurred now and then. The sensation at least meant Merlin was alive and using magic somewhere out there.

Arthur clenched his horse's reins tighter, recalling when Gaius had appeared just before he set out on this mission. They'd already argued once about the physician's request to join his retinue. The elderly man was eager to reunite with Merlin, but Arthur couldn't ignore his slow shuffle and occasional limp. Ever since his time in the stocks, he'd been more noticeably feeble. _Curse you, father_ , he'd thought sorrowfully. _Your most loyal man and you do that to him._ Well, _he_ wasn't going to cause anymore undue harm to the man. He wouldn't let the ailing man follow him on a long trek that could cause further harm to his body. "I want you at my side, Gaius, for years to come," he'd insisted. The physician's eyes had softened and he laid a hand on his arm. Arthur had cherished the warmth of the touch, the kind he wished his father had employed more often, but he instead associated with the court physician.

Gaius had consented to stay after he'd added that he needed loyal supporters to keep his council in check while he was absent the citadel. Leon would take up the mantle of temporary regent. Gaius and Geoffrey would aid the first knight as needed and keep their ears to the ground. He'd made it clear to the council these three men's word was law in his absence. Arthur smiled wryly to himself. With any luck, he wouldn't return to find a coup in process. Perhaps it wasn't an entirely wise idea to take off so soon, but he couldn't abide any more delays. The Druids troubled his mind daily and neither he nor his kingdom would be at peace until he did what must be done.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose with a gloved thumb and forefinger, reluctantly considering the other issue he and Gaius had discussed, the physician appearing uncharacteristically guilty and upset at bringing it up. What had come out of his mouth Arthur had never expected. Even now, he didn't want to dwell on it, didn't want to consider its numerous implications. Most of all, he didn't want to doubt the one person he most wanted to see again. He trusted Merlin. He did. But he hadn't seen any of what Gaius revealed in their connection. Had Merlin hidden it? Or was it just his protection of another was so strong, it hadn't been able to break through?

"Sire?"

Arthur looked up at the giant of a man who had maneuvered parallel to him, Percival, who he didn't know as well as any of the others but implicitly trusted more. "Sir Percival."

"Are you troubled, my lord?"

The corners of Arthur's mouth upturned slightly. Percival wasn't very vocal but seemed the most intuitive of men he'd met. Not what one would expect from someone whose build would terrify anyone if they encountered it in a dark alley. "It's nothing."

"I can listen."

"I appreciate that," Arthur responded sincerely. _But this is my burden, not yours._ He looked back at the other knights, then at the giant. "How're they treating you?"

"The interaction is...a little strained." When Arthur frowned, the knight rushed on. "They are gentlemen. Their obedience is unquestionable."

"But..."

"It isn't easy, is it, sire, to change?"

Arthur nodded and grunted. "Don't I know it."

"Common men becoming knights isn't their way."

"I suppose it isn't." Arthur's hands tightened around his reins again. "I understand my father's reasoning. He wanted to assure the lords' loyalty to him. Honor them with knighthoods, employ their sons, earn their good graces."

"So he could also take them away." Arthur eyed him and Percival bowed his head. "Forgive my forwardness, sire."

"No, you're right. Too right." Arthur lowered his voice. "I want to be a better a king than my father and yet..."

"You transgress his instructions and commands."

"Yes."

Percival rubbed at his chin with a gloved hand. "I think...I'm not noble, of course, but..."

"Speak freely."

"Well, my lord, it seems to me all kings must have this problem when they begin their reign. Few men are exactly the same as their fathers."

Arthur stared at Percival then let out a long breath. "Right, again." He smiled widely. "I knew there was a reason I made you a knight besides your obvious assets."

Percival laughed quietly. Arthur's eyes wandered and lingered on two men riding not too far from his right flank. Percival followed his gaze. "The lords."

Arthur nodded. "I suppose they're finding it even harder to put up with you."

"A little," Percival admitted. "Though the elder one seems kinder."

"Jost," Arthur informed him.

"I was surprised you invited them."

"They invited themselves," Arthur said, reliving his shock when Lord Jost had shown up with Lord Arnott, both saddled on their own horses and requesting to join. He hadn't informed the council exactly where he was going. He'd already pushed them far enough by changing the laws on magic and for that reason held back certain facts when discussing the Druids. They were only aware he meant to entreat with the Druids at some point, not that he'd initiated first contact.

Lord Jost had seen through him. The man had pulled him aside and with one sentence explained his presence: "When your father felt he did the right thing, he wasn't one to waste time." He implied Arthur was the same and then outright declared that since their king had tentatively mentioned opening discussion with the Druids, he assumed this little escapade was an attempt to meet with them. Arthur hadn't wanted to lie to the man, and admitted the truth. Jost then submitted his formal request to go along. Arnott, it turned out, had no idea what he'd been dragged into, just that Jost demanded he accompany him, but Arthur guessed the councilor was more than willing to keep tabs on their newly crowned king. Jost's final play was to advise that representatives of the council on such a mission was appropriate, and if he and Arnott could be persuaded of the advantages of parleying with the Druids, it would garner the entire council's support.

Arthur hadn't been able to dispute the logic, and he welcomed the unexpected backing from a man he'd always presumed just like his father. So the lords had come along, even though their presence increased his anxieties over Merlin. As of yet, he hadn't revealed Merlin's particular gift to anyone but those at his surreptitious library meeting. He worried about how to tell and when to tell and _if_ to tell.

"And you let them come," Percival said, drawing Arthur back to the moment.

"I need their support. I probably should have selected a couple to come with me anyway."

"You're still learning, sire," Percival defended his king.

Arthur shook his head and smiled up at the knight. "What did I do to deserve you, Sir Percival?"

Percival cocked his head and answered seriously. "You protected your servant boy, suffered for the good of your people, and didn't follow your father's example."

Arthur swallowed hard. He knew all that. Had heard it before. But to hear it that succinctly...

"And that is why we follow you. We'll put up with you while you learn." Percival's lips curved with that soft grin that set his eyes twinkling in mirth.

Arthur spoke quietly. "I think, Sir Percival, I don't deserve such high acclaim, but I'll accept it if you'll accept my own estimation―I think there are few wiser than you."

Percival laughed. "Mind telling that to the lords?"

Arthur peered once again at Jost and Arnott, the former looking straight ahead, the latter suspiciously regarding the large knight. "Gladly."

* * *

The catatonic boy lay in front of a roaring fire, swathed in blankets, gaze not deviating from the crackling flames. They'd stripped him of his waterlogged clothing, dried him thoroughly, and prayed he'd survive. He'd been half drowned when they found him, sprawled limply at the edge of the basin of the nearby waterfall. They could only guess what had happened and every speculation resulted in unease. If they presumed correctly, they would have to report to the high priestess when she returned, and they did not relish the thought.

The boy Mordred had always been a strange one. Permanently mute, they had thought, but apparently no more. He had spent some time with them previously, and they cared for him as befitted one of their own whose soul had been raked by ruthless Pendragon claws. And then he'd waltzed in with a high priestess and her band who'd camped in their cave as well. Warily they'd watched these newcomers interact, manly practicing various spells. Some of their own had even ventured to learn one or two, but most kept to themselves, careful of the outsiders until their leader declared them fully trustworthy.

Alvarr sat at another fire a few meters away from the boy, pondering him. Cerdan, the softest of their bunch, had taken to Mordred when he'd come the first time, and now sat next to him, speaking in soothing tones and sometimes singing quietly. It was a wonder one like him joined them. He hadn't lost anyone or anything to the Pendragons; he simply assented to the cold logic that the current royals could not remain on the throne _and_ the Druids of Camelot survive. So he supported their cause, not with a sword but his pen, scratching out messages to deliver between the various parties dedicated to their mission. Alvarr considered him as valuable as the hand that wielded a weapon.

Alvarr scratched at his nose, watching reflected flame flicker in Mordred's unmoving eyes, then rubbed a hand over his face. The high priestess had said she'd be gone three days. What would happen when she returned and found her sister had perished? Such was the closest truth, he thought, that the wild woman had accidentally fallen into the basin-or purposefully. There were whispers she was a _Woda_ , a person born so steeped in magic they lost all mind. Perhaps she'd tossed herself over in a mad stupor. However it happened, he'd tell the high priestess himself and take her outside to do it, just in case the grief magic became violent.

Feet pounded from the direction of the cave's entrance. Alvarr stood at the appearance of his watchman running, a folded parchment in his hand.

"Urgent!" the man gasped, passing a message into his hand. "Delivered by raven."

Alvarr raised his eyebrows. The elders only employed the trained ravens when they were desperately needed. The message could only come from an elder's camp and thus, one of their informers. He strode across to Cerdan, who had already stood and held out his hand, knowing the leader would pass it to him for reading.

The parchment was unfolded and its contents illuminated. "Two days hence, the elders gather at the Circle. They are to parley with the king of Camelot. This is our chance!" Cerdan lifted his dark eyes to stare at Alvarr now licking his lips in excitement.

Ari had stepped to the leader's elbow to listen as well and questioned. "Parley? The new king comes to us?"

"A trick," Cerdan spoke decisively. "To gather us all in one place for slaughter."

Alvarr's expression morphed into a scowl. Yes, of course. The new Pendragon employed a new strategy. Hunting their camps down one by one was too laborious; better to cut down their elders while feigning amends. Cut off the head and the snake dies, as the saying went.

"Ari! Send Tauren to the Circle. Instruct him to survey the area and number the men the king brings. If more than we are able, we warn the elders. If they match us," he smiled grimly, "we deal with Arthur Pendragon ourselves."

"Arthur?" Mordred had jerked upwards, startling them all.

Cerdan crouched down next to him, whispering in his ear. "Peace, Mordred."

The boy grabbed Cerdan by the shoulders, yanking him close. "He lied to her! He killed her! He has to die!"

Compassion for the boy overwhelmed Alvarr and he knelt down himself, meeting the fierce gaze. "He will, Mordred. We have our chance. Arthur Pendragon has erred. He thinks to make us pay, but he will find the noose around his own neck."

* * *

Droplets pelleted a drenched figure, coughing roughly, then moaning in agony. Lean fingers stretched and on trailing through an icy pool, recoiled, fingernails scraping stone. The movement's vibration ignited a raging ache along the victim's right side, and she instinctively bit down hard to prevent a scream.

Morgana's eyelids fluttered, blurry vision dissolving into sheets of cascading water. She blinked against sprinkles pattering her eyelashes and shook as violently as she had one snowy winter day when she'd challenged Arthur to a test of endurance, standing in a foot of courtyard snow without any extra layers or even cloaks. She would have won if her nurse and his tutor hadn't discovered them and hauled them back inside with a lecture for her and a threat for Arthur as his elderly instructor yanked his ear, dragging him down an opposite hall. She'd shivered for the better part of an hour after, her nurse filling her with hot broth and vigorously rubbing every inch of skin in front of a roaring fire until the blue left her hands and feet and lips.

Morgana closed her eyes, reeling time backwards. She'd left the cave, running from it and Mordred's grisly witnesses, then climbed to the edge of a cliff and...stepped off. Her eyes popped open. Where was... the sheets of water not two meters away must belong to the waterfall. But, she had seen it coming closer and... She looked up to behold the underside of the falls, white water jetting over a rocky outcropping.

Bracing her left palm on wet rock, she sat up, panting through gritted teeth. Her right arm at the elbow emitted gutwrenching pain and was twisted unnaturally. She sucked in her lips, battling nausea, and forced herself to her feet to take a small step and peer downwards. She gasped and backed away. She'd spied the basin below from behind the gushing water. She'd fallen through the falls when she tumbled and onto a concealed ledge.

Morgana ran a hand over her forehead, pausing when she smeared a sticky substance. Pulling her hand away, she beheld streaks of blood clinging to her fingers. Now that she'd become aware of the wound, its throbbing sting distinguished itself from her arm's screaming. She stepped farther back, heart twittering in panic, and whipped around when her back wasn't hindered by a rockface. The rock opened into a fissure about three feet wide. Another entrance into the cave system where the Druids had taken up residence?

How long had she laid on the ledge? Should she scream and hope the Druids or Morgause's people looked for her? But surely her voice would be drowned out by the roaring falls. She was so cold. Her teeth were chattering, gooseflesh puckering along every inch of her flesh. She was in desperate need of somewhere dry.

She steeled herself and sidled into the crevice. Her luck held, and it widened soon after into a hollowed tunnel. She called forth a bit of magic, illuminating her left palm in an ethereal blue glow. Her breaths shallowed, as if the simple magic act taxed all her strength. She wouldn't be able to maintain the light for long. How far in would she have to go to find a link to the Druids' cavern? Or maybe this tunnel didn't connect to theirs at all. If so, this was more foolish than staying on the ledge.

She decided on a hundred steps, then she'd turn around if she'd made no discovery. She didn't even have to lurch that far. Within seconds, the tunnel ended and opened up into a smaller space dimly lit from an opening so high above she could barely perceive it. She gratefully extinguished her light, pausing to recover her breath and squint against the pain that had increased twofold. She couldn't continue much farther. She wouldn't make it. But did she even care to make it? Hadn't she meant to escape everything once and for all?

She trembled all the more, not against the cold, but the decision she had made so rashly, a decision that had almost ended her existence. Hot tears coursed channels down her cheeks and she furiously rubbed them out. She _hated_ to be weak, but that's all she seemed to manage anymore. She'd begun to slide down the wall when something caught her eye, a furry, brown bundle pulsing rhythmically up and down on the other side of the cavern.

She froze. If she had stumbled upon a bear's shelter... Knights had regaled listeners with reports of encounters, but most came second or third hand. Bears were rare to sight, but plentiful in tales, most concerning warrior Vikings, men so foolhardy and confident they'd battle them hand to hand. Morgana might have doubted the utter truth of such tales but not the deadly nature of the beasts. They were real at least at some point; she'd once come upon a dried jawbone in the Camelot vaults bearing sharp and vicious teeth. One bite and a man's arm would be ripped from his shoulder.

She didn't move a muscle, staring until her eyes adjusted to the light, and then she frowned. She didn't think a bear would be so thin, nor one end of it covered in curly grey hair. Cautiously, she crept forward to get a better look and covered her mouth in shock. What she'd mistaken for a beast was a man wrapped in bearskin, elderly, bearded, laying as though dead on raised flat stone. Most horrifying of all, she recognized the face. He was the one she'd seen on the way to the Druid camp, in the cave tunnels, and beckoning from the basin of the falls.

She approached. She might have thought him prepared for a pyre, but the furs rose and fell, indicating the breath of life. Who was he? Why had he called her? What possessed him to tempt her over the edge?

Nothing seemed more important to her than to know why he haunted her every step. She reached out to touch his shoulder and the moment she did received an electric shock jolting through her arm. She cried out, stumbling back, staring at her throbbing fingers. They didn't hold her interest for long when the man groaned, blinked, and gradually sat up. He cricked his neck, rolled it, then looked straight at her.

"Morgana Pendragon. I've been waiting a long time to meet you."

* * *

"Sir Lucan. Sir Percival. With me."

The knights obeyed their king, following in his steps while the rest of their retinue set up camp in a well known way point - a series of buildings once belonging to a prosperous farm now long abandoned but still utilized by travelers when necessary for nighttime shelter. Arthur had hoped to slip away without notice, but day turned towards dusk. Still, no one seemed too concerned when he ordered the men to follow him and plunged into the surrounding darkening woods.

His heart pounded and his stomach twisted in knots. So close. He'd be with Merlin again, be able to talk...but not freely? No, he would. The time for secrets was gone between them. No more. Ever again.

Arthur paused in his step when he left the trees and a familiar lanky form leaped up from a cross-legged position several meters away. Another form so similar but a head taller stopped pacing and turned, Balinor, doing as he'd been asked, though he hadn't required any cajoling. A third thin form in a flowing skirt stood stock still facing his approach—Nimueh. He'd tried not to think too much on her, on riding to the Druids accompanied by the witch who had worked his conception in the first place and tried to kill him twice.

Merlin made a beeline for him, running as if his life depended on it, but he pulled up short a meter away, bobbing nervously back and forth, peering around him at Sir Lucan and Sir Percival—offering the latter a short wave—and nodding. "Eh...I'm here...Like you said."

Arthur's face broke into a slow smile. "You think that's good enough now?"

Merlin swallowed. "Eh..."

Arthur stepped towards him, slinging an arm around his shoulders to pull the youth into his side and ruffling his hair with the opposite hand. "You're not my scribe anymore."

Merlin's grin faded to betrayal.

"I'm not firing you, simpleton, but I won't have you a servant anymore."

"So, you're not my master?"

"I won't order you about anymore. We make decisions together."

"Together," Merlin echoed.

Arthur had expected some sign of acceptance, but Merlin's face fell. "What is it?"

"I..." The warlock peeked behind him again. "Do they know?"

Arthur kept Merlin in his side grip as he moved them both towards the two others waiting at the border. "Percival does. I only told a few. People we trust. He's the only one with me who knows right now. You didn't tell me about Gwen. You healed her."

"I didn't know if I could...but I couldn't leave without trying."

"Of course you couldn't," Arthur whispered. "Quit being so pure, Merlin. You make me look bad."

"Sorry."

"I'm joking. I don't want you to change. Don't ever change."

"I won't, but Arthur...there's something I have to te―"

"Arthur Pendragon," Nimueh's stern voice called out as they reached the border. "You're going to the Druids. Why?"

Arthur glanced down at Merlin who rolled his eyes and had to stifle a giggle. Must have been utterly enjoyable traveling with her these last two days. He let go the youth and turned his attention to Nimueh. "As they live within my borders, they're my people. They should have a voice in the changes to come...as should you."

Nimueh's mouth hung open humorously as she seemed to have been about to protest but couldn't after digesting Arthur's last statement.

"What my father did to you, killing your family, it was wrong. I can't make it up to you, but I am sorry it happened."

Nimueh closed her mouth and Arthur was surprised when wetness fogged her eyes.

"And all things considered, I suppose I owe you at least in some part my life."

Nimueh blinked back her tears. "I never thought to hear a Pendragon say such things. Remorse was never a family trait."

"Maybe it can become one."

The former high priestess considered him for a long moment. "I'll come with you." Her eyes shifted to Merlin. "He needs training and aid."

"Do you have a cloak?"

Nimueh narrowed her eyes. "Yes."

"It might be best for the time being if they don't know who you are."

Nimueh dug into a satchel, producing her cloak and wrapping it around her shoulders. "Wisdom," she spoke quietly, "perhaps there is hope for Camelot yet." She eyed Merlin, who looked away to his father.

Arthur followed Merlin's line of sight and held out a hand to the dragonlord who shared a wrist grip with him. "Thank you for getting him here."

Balinor nodded, but a troubled gaze passed between him and his son. "Come," the dragonlord spoke to Nimueh. "The day wanes." He latched onto the woman's elbow, drawing her away towards the waiting knights while she protested.

Arthur rotated to his former scribe who was biting the inside of his lip and finding his feet way too interesting. "What is it?"

"It's just...It's..."

"Morgana?"

Merlin's head popped up.

"Gaius told me the truth. She has magic."

"Gaius is here?" Merlin looked back the way Arthur had come.

"No. I insisted he stay behind. The journey would have been too much for him. But he told me I had to know. He was right. Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought...maybe you saw...when we shared the past..."

"I didn't."

"I couldn't tell you. I didn't know what you'd do."

Arthur closed his eyes against Merlin's pleading look. When Gaius had revealed the truth about the woman he'd considered a sister, a knife had pierced through his ribs right into his faltering heart. All this time, Morgana had magic. Gaius wasn't sure if she had known, might not have known until Morgause kidnapped her. Surely the witch had told her, and when Uther's ward had returned to the capital, she hadn't informed him, hadn't trusted him, just like...

Arthur opened his eyes. "You can trust me, Merlin. I swear it."

"I know that, and I don't think Morgana meant to hurt your father. She was so upset about what she did and..."

"What she _did_?" Arthur's heart leaped into his throat when he choked out the question.

"She..." Merlin's eyes grew fearful. "Gaius didn't say...oh."

Arthur's jaw firmed and he gripped Merlin's upper arm. "What did she do?"

"I saw her...with Uther...her eyes yellow...What she did...I don't know...something. It's why he was dying when Gwen went to find you to come to his chambers." He lowered his gaze.

Arthur clenched his jaw and released the boy. "Gwen saw this, too?"

Merlin silently nodded and then raised his head, eyes characteristically glazed. "But in the courtyard, she cut herself to stop those knights."

"How can you be sure?"

"Freya said it was her blood that brought them life. She must have been trying to stop them. She was doing it for you."

Arthur took a couple steps backwards, then swung around, marching back towards the waiting group. Merlin ran to catch up.

"Arthur..."

He didn't look back. "Don't say anything more," he snapped. "Not another word."

* * *

Sweat trickled down Elyan's forehead, bridging the ridge of his nose and dangling off its tip. He wiped away the annoying drop with the back of a hand and sucked in several deep breaths, observing men better than he exiting the practice field. None had clapped him on the back or muttered well done. But then, it hadn't been well done, had it? He'd slipped and stumbled and ended up pitched right off the rotating platform, losing his quarterstaff in the process.

"It isn't as easy as it looks, is it?"

Elyan wrenched off his helmet and a chilly breeze immediately assaulted his damp hair. He scowled sardonically at the rogue's question. "You take a break from spending all your time listening to poetry?"

Gwaine settled down next to him on the bench, appearing way too clean and fresh. "We've walked the gardens once or twice."

"You barely spend a second away from her."

"I'm following King Arthur's instructions to the letter," Gwaine argued, rubbing at pinking cheeks.

"King Arthur _forced_ you, did he?"

"You think I'd spend all day with a _girl_ if..."

Elyan guffawed. "You've spent hundreds of days with girls."

Gwaine spoke over him, pointing at the round platform, finishing his previous sentence. "There's this fun to be had?"

Elyan glanced at the infernal contraption. He'd executed a perfect bumbling show. "If you did as awful as I? Yes."

Gwaine chuckled. "It gets better. Especially if you wake up Sir Lamorak every day for extra training before daybreak."

Flummoxed, Elyan stared and finally snorted a laugh. "You're getting up early? To _work_? I'd have declared you an honorary knight if I'd known such a thing would make a difference."

Gwaine waggled his eyebrows. "You were all spit and fire. You could hardly keep yourself in line, much less me."

Elyan sighed, pondering his hands as he removed his gloves. He held them in front of his eyes. "Do you ever think..." He paused, trying to put words to his thoughts.

"Think..." Gwaine prompted.

He nailed Gwaine with a serious gaze, the one that demanded he cut the silly talk. "We were like children pretending our lives meant something? Thinking we could change anything for the better at all."

Gwaine responded as he always had to their serious conversations, elbows perched on knees, chin in his hands, fading from jokster to intellectual in an instant. He wasn't as good as Percival at this type of thing, but he'd always obliged well enough when Elyan was "in one of his moods" as he put it.

"We did some good," Gwaine said quietly. "We helped people get justice."

"But Camelot..."

"We didn't know it had a prince like Arthur."

Elyan squeezed the gloves in his hands. "You knew pretty quickly. I didn't know until they dragged him past our cell all bloodied up."

Gwaine sat up straight and slapped his knee with an exasperated sigh. "You still on about that? What is it this time?You didn't do good enough on that thing"―he indicated the platform again―"so you're going to beat yourself up some more?"

"I don't deserve any of this!" Elyan hissed, letting loose his pent up thoughts. "Me? An adviser to the king? The king I almost ruined? And a knighthood? I'm not supposed to be here. This isn't me."

"King Arthur's put you in charge of lands, given you the highest place he can in his court, made you a knight, what more do you need to prove he doesn't hold any sin against you?"

Elyan glared at him. "You _know_ what I was like. How I failed."

"Percival was right."

"Percival?"

"You have issues."

"You two discussed me?"

"We had a lot of down time in between fights for justice, didn't we? He said you carried baggage. Stuff left over from here." Gwaine waved his hand, indicating the capital. "He worried when you wanted to come here it might get to you. I guess it did. But you're better for it."

"Better?" Elyan shot back.

"Well, you're here, aren't you? A knight, training."

Elyan fumed. "A knight failing," he spit out, eyes on the rotating platform.

"Agravaine's beatings weren't enough, were they?" Gwaine grumbled under his breath.

"What?" Elyan asked, not sure he'd heard right.

Gwaine suddenly stood. "Alright, then. Come on." He grabbed Elyan's sleeve and hauled him off the training ground.

"Gwaine! What are you..."

"You need to be punished, then let's get it over with." They passed through an arch, Gwaine half dragging Elyan as he stumbled along.

"Punished?"

"It wasn't good enough Agravaine beat you half to death over Arthur. You need more."

"But, that was..."

"So you might as well confess," Gwaine went on as if he hadn't spoken. He clattered over a cobble when they reached the courtyard. Gwaine headed towards the barracks. "Make a clean breast of it. Tell Sir Lamorak you're a traitor to the king. A rebel. A criminal."

Heat blossomed in Elyan's cheeks as servants crossing the courtyard paused to gaze at one of the new knights hauling the other across the stones. They reached the barracks and Gwaine thrust Elyan back to the door, pinning him with one hand.

"Tell him you want to be whipped until it salves your conscience once and for all."

Elyan could hardly breathe as he stared into Gwaine's dead serious amber eyes.

"That's what you want, isn't it?" Gwaine whispered. "To suffer as he did to make it up to him."

"H-he didn't deserve it."

Gwaine pressed harder into his shoulder. "You think Arthur wants your blood spilled to make up for it?"

Elyan slowly shook his head.

"You want _his_ blood to mean something, then do what he's asked you to. Get into those advisers' faces and make them acknowledge _all_ the people of Camelot. Train until you drop from exhaustion. Be the best damn knight Camelot ever saw." Gwaine let him go. "Second best, anyway, cause I'm claiming first." He winked, and turned on his heel to strut away.

Elyan stared after his friend. Never had Gwaine been that blunt, that forward, that...right. One knighthood, one king to follow, and something had changed that man from the inside out.

The door behind him swung open and he fell backwards. Sir Lamorak caught him. "Sir Elyan." The second knight righted him and noted his burdensome armor. "You need help?"

"I..."

"It takes some getting used to." The dark-haired knight, particularly identifiable by his well groomed mustache, pushed him along with a solid, beefy hand until they reached the rack assigned for his armor. He stepped behind him to unbuckle his pauldron. "You did well out there."

"I failed."

"Most do the first time. All that matters is you take it on." A couple knights passed, nodding curtly to them, their eyes lingering a little longer and harder on Elyan. Sir Lamorak sighed. "Don't mind them. We're nobles here and a little too proud of our appointments. When our king assigned common men to knighthood..." He paused and straightened. "He's our king, though, isn't he? If he wants you here, then we want you here. It might take some of them time to accept you, but they'll come around."

Elyan felt the weight of the pauldron leave his shoulder. For the first time in so long, something he'd often wished for made itself known―a sense of belonging. Here he served amongst men who'd dedicated themselves to a singular task―the service of their king with body, mind, and soul―all to pursue justice in the lands of Camelot.

Something on the bench below caught his eye.

"That came for you," Sir Lamorak informed him.

Elyan picked it up and unrolled the parchment, recognizing his sister's handwriting. He'd been so preoccupied, he hadn't sought her out since the meeting in the library.

 _Elyan, I've been called away. You remember Mary who lived next to door to us? She lives in Longstead now. She's sick, and I've gone to tend her. I'm sorry I left without telling you. Make sure father doesn't worry. Gwen._

Elyan smiled. His sweet sister. Always one to answer the call of the distressed. He supposed this was a fortunate turn of events. She'd be able to forget all the chaos and losses she'd suffered at least for a time.

* * *

Merlin took aim at the pile of stacked twigs and branches outside a small building that most likely once stored grain and various agrarian products. His blue eyes flamed gold and the dry wood set alight. He glanced over his shoulder. Arthur glared at him from several meters away, hand to his chest, eyes screaming, "Cut it out!" Merlin grinned and turned back to the burgeoning fire. His smile faded. He'd only addressed Arthur in short sentences since their meeting at the border. When they'd returned to the traveling group, Arthur had introduced Balinor as his father, but neglected to present Nimueh whose visage could barely be spied inside her voluminous hood. Merlin guessed he meant the others to assume Nimueh his mother. No one questioned Arthur's reasons for including his scribe's parents on their mission, and soon he was bundled off with his companions to an outbuilding far on the edge of the old farm. Arthur didn't want him close enough for anyone to catch him using magic especially since he hadn't really learned to harness his new power.

Merlin sighed, watching Nero hobble back and forth in front of the fire, squawking now and then. "It's coming. Be patient," he encouraged the hungry bird.

A rustling drew his attention, Nimueh kneeling down next to him, peering behind his back. "It might have been a grave error to try and kill him."

Merlin peered over his shoulder again at Arthur instructing a couple knights. "It _was_ a grave error," he couldn't help biting snidely back.

Nimueh's hood shifted and he just made out two bright eyes locking with his own. "For your sake, Emrys, I hope so."

Merlin swallowed the retort rising in his throat and drew in the dirt with a short stick.

"Did you tell him?" Concern colored her tone.

"Tell him what?"

"Do not play the fool. Did you mention he's a threat to you?"

"Not yet."

Nimueh sighed loudly. "I still believe it best you conceal this knowledge."

"I've kept too much from him already." His stomach clenched. He'd already kept Arthur in the dark once again without even meaning to. They should have discussed Morgana back in Ealdor.

"It is unwise to make him aware of his power over you. His current agreeable nature may change. You cannot guarantee he remains the same man you know today."

Merlin's head shot up. "I _trust_ him. He's not going to hurt me."

"Others said that, and they perished. Be wise, Emrys." She marched away into the woods, heading who knows where to do who knows what.

"She could be right."

Merlin fixed his gaze on eyes reflecting his own. "She's not."

"Merlin," Balinor began, sounding all too much like a reprimanding parent, "You know I think him better than his father... I want to trust him as thoroughly as you... But you didn't know Uther before the Purge. No one thought he would turn on magic. The right push at the right moment can move any man, even Arthur Pendragon."

"He won't change."

"Merlin, listen, just in case, it might best to..."

Merlin pushed to a stand. "He _won't_ change!" He stomped into the woods, a swirling wind encasing him, rustling leaves and branches as he passed. Merlin groaned, fighting the rise of magic and managing little success as the trees continued to tremble in his wake. He stopped, back to a tree and slid down, knees drawn into his chest, arms clutched around them. He shivered as the magic settled and unwillingly recalled Arthur choking him to death with a chain. It had all been pretend at the time, but he hadn't known it. They wouldn't be at odds like that. Ever. It was impossible.

"Lose your appetite?"

A bowl appeared in front of his eyes, held in Arthur's hand. "Thanks," he muttered, nodding at the king hovering above him as the meal was shoved in his hands and Arthur joined him against the tree.

"What was that about?" Arthur jerked his thumb back towards the fire where he'd been conversing with Nimueh and his father.

"Just...nothing."

"I felt the magic. You're upset."

Merlin stifled an exasperated sigh. This Arthur having constant access to him could become bloody inconvenient. He couldn't hide his magic from him ever again. And dare he tell the king he wielded even more power than he knew?

Arthur nervously swished his palms on the grass at his sides. "I shouldn't have been upset you didn't tell me about Morgana. I understand why."

"I should have talked to you about her in Ealdor."

"You didn't know _I_ didn't know. And we had enough to concern ourselves with."

Merlin leaned back against the tree.

"It just hurts." Arthur's voice went hoarse. "Why would she attack my father?"

"She said she had to know."

"Know what?" Arthur's eyes begged an answer that would absolve Morgana from anything he'd assumed her guilty of.

Merlin shook his head. "I don't know. We didn't have time to talk about it before those knights showed up." A couple wet sprinkles dotted Merlin's face.

"Rain coming," Arthur grumbled. Even sheltering inside, the rain meant a cold and dreary night. "Whatever she did or didn't do, it doesn't change she chose Morgause."

Merlin fingered the meat strips in his bowl. Arthur was right. She'd left with the witch and even he couldn't be sure what her action implied. Magic had been against Arthur most of his life. It only made sense for him to remain wary of it. "Arthur... We aren't the first who bonded." His heart pummeled his ribs as the sprinkles of rain turned into heavier drops. "Nimueh told me King Bruta bonded with a warlock."

Shock crossed Arthur's face before he laughed shortly. "I wonder if that story never made it into the histories or my father rewrote them."

"The warlock," Merlin turned his bowl around in his hands, "was named Sigan."

Arthur sat up straighter. "Sigan! I read about him in my uncle's books. He tried to destroy Camelot. Almost did."

"Something went wrong between Bruta and him. Nimueh didn't know what, but Sigan had to be stopped in the end." He lowered his head, chewing his lip.

"There's more. Tell me."

Merlin continued to worry his lip as he replied. "You know I could have killed you and broken the bond."

"Yes."

"It's different now."

"What do you mean?"

Merlin raised his head. " _You_ can kill _me_."

A nervous laugh escaped Arthur's lips. "Why would I do that?"

"Not that you'd want to, but when we completed the bond...when I _let_ you complete the bond"―that's how Nimueh had described it anyway―"I entrusted you with a connection to magic that sustains my existence. Our link can't break without me dying."

"How can you know this?" Arthur demanded, his voice probably more harsh than he intended.

"Because Sigan, he couldn't kill Bruta, that's why he went after Camelot. The magic doesn't let a warlock kill the one he's bonded to. But Bruta, he could break the bond. He did it to save Camelot and Sigan died."

Horror rose in Arthur's expression.

"Nimueh thinks our bond can go wrong. Something could happen that makes you like Uther and..."

Arthur's hands were suddenly on his shoulders shaking lightly. "Never, Merlin. You hear me? My hand will never turn against you. I won't ever break our bond." The heavy droplets morphed into the warning of a deluge."Come on." Arthur pulled him to his feet and they raced back to camp.

When they arrived, Arthur shoved him inside the small one room building. Nimueh and Balinor sat at the back, shivering next to each other with their own meals. Merlin saw another pallet already spread out next to his own—Arthur's. The king gestured for him to sit, then produced a blanket, throwing it over both their shoulders. Underneath the wool cover, squished together shoulder to shoulder, listening to the rain pelt the roof of their shelter, Merlin finally dug into his meal.

"How did the council meeting go?" he mumbled around bites.

"Better than I could have hoped."

As Arthur launched into the report, Merlin pondered his friend's energetic eyes, less burdened when he didn't have to think of Morgana or Druids or bonds. His insides squirmed. He hadn't revealed everything. Not only Sigan had died. In the act of breaking the bond, Bruta had lost his own life. Three months after, he'd withered to nothing then perished and most attributed his demise to the break with Sigan.

Merlin squared his shoulders. Well, it didn't matter. They weren't Bruta and Sigan. Their bond was far stronger. It had to be. And it would never fail.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Next chapter, Druids! I finally finished a project I had to complete and now that it is done, I am hoping updates will come more quickly again. Thanks to all my readers for your continued encouragement!


	90. Clutching At Straws, Part I

After using her name, the curly headed man swung his legs off the flat stone to stand. Despite an urge to flee, Morgana found she couldn't move and in seconds, he was upon her. He flung the bearskin over her shoulders and with a gentle hand eased her to the ground.

"You have suffered much. It is often the lot of the seer," he said in voice pitched oddly high, not the deep, menacing tone she'd imagined. He tended her wounds with a few words. "I learned those spells after Sigan's final attack," he commented, then instructed her to stay and wandered off. She was still staring at her healed arm with rounded eyes when he returned to dump two apples and a pear into her hands. She weighed the fruit in her hands, none of which should have been in season. Why such surprise? With all his reappearing and disappearing, he _had_ to be a sorcerer, yet she'd never heard of skill like this before.

The man settled cross-legged across from her. "They're safe."

"How did you get them?"

"I had some seeds left."

"Seeds?"

"I grew them. Haven't you done so yourself?"

Morgana slowly shook her head. "You grew them...just now?"

The man's eyes narrowed. "Yes," he answered slowly, then put a hand to his chin scratching his short grey beard. "Eat."

Morgana stared at the fruit. She _was_ hungry and if he'd meant to do her harm, he could have easily let her die of her injuries. She bit into the pear, its sweet juice spilling into her mouth. As she chewed, she took the time to truly observe the man. His robe was a strange style, a roughspun mossy green woven so that tassels edged the bottom hem and split from collarbone to waist, revealing an orange undershirt. A braided copper band encircled the man's neck, flush to the skin. He also bore a swirling pattern next to his right eye, so faint she'd almost missed it. It reminded her of the Druids' markings, though they would never have displayed them so openly.

"How were you wounded?"

Morgana paused to swallow, and even though he had healed her, anger flared. "You know! You called me to the pool. I thought..." She hesitated, her sheer idiocy all too clear, ignorantly making this man death summoning her to final release from earthly anguish.

The man looked taken aback, though his green eyes bore into her. She lowered her gaze. "You are haunted, despairing... By Sulis and all the sacred, you sought an end." When she looked back up, horror stretched his features. "I did not think to cause you such distress. Did not they teach you I might appear to you?"

Morgana set the fruit in her lap. " _Who_ would teach me? Who _are_ you?"

The man shook his head and leaped to his feet, agitated, pacing back and forth and muttering in broken phrases. "Can't see all ends. Unbroken line. Forgotten. Only makes sense. A fool's hope." He whirled to face her. "But you _are_ Morgana Pendragon?"

Morgana's back stiffened. "I was born Morgana du Bois."

"But you aren't and this has caused you pain beyond measure."

It felt like a piece of pear had wedged in her throat as her eyes filled with tears. The man rushed her, and she cried out, scrambling backwards, fruit dropping from her lap and rolling across stone. She tried to remember a spell, holding out her arm, but he was suddenly wrapping her in an embrace so secure and tender and loving...

"My child, dear child." He stroked her hair, whispering foreign words. Warmth spread through her body like pure summer water in a bubbling spring. She gulped, gasped several deep breaths, and cleared her eyes. He released her.

"Who are you?" she asked again. Who was this man who caressed her as his own, disarming every shield she'd constructed around her heart?

"My name is Taliesin." He paused, but when she said nothing, went on. "I see even that means nothing to you." He slapped a hand on his knee. "Every assurance, every promise, and not one memory of me remains?" Morgana shook her head. "Well... Morgana Pendragon, I am your ancestor, the seer in the time of the Great Bruta."

Morgana stared, then without even meaning to, laughed aloud. "You're lying to me. You'd be hundreds of years old."

Taliesin nodded. "Quite old." He rubbed at his leg. "Since you woke me, I have been becoming reacquainted with that truth. Aches. Even a rest such as mine can't induce immortality."

"Impossible," Morgana breathed.

"I can see you need a history lesson, child." Taliesin raised a hand in the air and quickly moved it back and forth as if scribbling. Multiple ribbons of light streamed from his fingers, and Morgana stifled a gasp when they coalesced into an ethereal sketch of figures fighting with clubs and swords.

"This land," Taliesin began, "was mired in war, tribe against tribe, chief against chief." He flicked his fingers and the ribbons untangled themselves from the battlefield, coealsing into a glowing man standing beside a throne. " One rose above all, Bruta, a warrior unique among men, possessing wisdom and heart. He grieved the destruction of his land and people." The lines of the throne drifted apart, forming into four men on each side of the warrior. "He met with the chiefs and after long negotiations, brought peace to the land. At his side was his closest friend from youth, a warlock, powerful, strong, and ordered by Bruta to silence his magic during the wars." The chiefs morphed into one man standing next to Bruta with a thin mustache and flowing robe.

Taliesin sighed deeply. "Sigan had obeyed and now he honored his friend by the construction of a castle for his use."

When Bruta and Sigan broke apart to form the castle, Morgana started. "Camelot."

"In the time of its glory, partially cast by magic hands and warded as well. The land prospered. The people feasted. Peace reigned. But along came another, a man who claimed to have met the divine and been gifted future sight."

Morgana didn't need to see the sketch reorganizing itself to know. "You."

"Me." Taliesin stared sadly at the drawing. "I only meant to warn the king. I should never have asked for the gift." His fingers swirled and Sigan appeared again, this time looming over the castle like a giant, lightning funneling down from his fingers and striking towers. "I saw Sigan destroy his creation. The king dismissed my warning, yet in his eyes, I saw doubt. Years passed. I cared for my own family, suffered the visions, learned from them." Taliesin had returned, the light drawing weaving a wife and children around him. "News came. The king and his warlock at odds. I returned. I had not even been granted entrance when Sigan stormed out of Bruta's throne room and upon seeing me declared he'd make my vision come true after all."

Taliesin waved his hand. Sigan and Bruta reappeared, a thin cord wound around each, crossing the space between them and connecting at the heart. "When they were young, Sigan and Bruta had bonded. Such devotion did they possess that they vowed to never to break their friendship, and Sigan linked his very soul to Bruta. Such a covenant meant he could never lift his hand against Bruta, but the king could turn on the warlock." The figures pulled away and the cord snapped. "When Sigan worked his wrath on Camelot, the king broke the bond through an elaborate ritual, and this led to Sigan's death." Sigan faded away. "The king himself passed three months later. Broken in heart and soul."

Taliesin drew himself again, asleep on the flat stone. "I saw much more to come. Bruta's peace lasting no longer than a generation. War and death. Lands taken and recaptured. Fragile peace achieved only to break once more. And then another king and a warlock, a repetition on the wheel of time. Camelot destroyed. This time forever." Taliesin stared at her as the sketch faded away like a puff of wind. "Camelot's loss will destroy all Albion. No more protection. Every kingdom will fall and this land will perish in ash."

"Why tell me this?" Morgana strained out, hardly wrapping her mind around the story.

Taliesin shook his head and didn't answer her question. "I did not consider how much would be lost over time. Foolish, isn't it?" He chuckled. "I, the gifted seer, failing to guess such an outcome? But as you know, seeing is no art. It is fraught with hazards and madness. A curse as much as a gift."

Morgana's hand went to her neck. She felt a kinship to this man, and for the first time, understood completely. "How can you be hundreds of years old?"

"Well, perhaps I wasn't as foolish as I thought. I sought the divine once more, one more gift. Presumptuous, yes, but I was given access to waters from beyond the veil. Once consumed, they would preserve me in sleep to wake when the seer of a future age was near, the seer of the time of the Second Bond. I saw you, Morgana Pendragon, I heard your name in my mind. I could reach you with my image, but not until you touched me could I arise."

Morgana stared in disbelief and inquired again, "Why me?"

"You are sister to the king, are you not? You can warn him before it is too late. He is the king of the Second Bond, but this time, the warlock will kill the king."

* * *

Arthur knelt down at the edge of an extensive pond, refilling his waterskin. If no one else had accompanied them on this journey he was sure Merlin would have insisted on doing it for him, but the boy occupied the farther end of the pond, obeying Arthur's request to maintain distance. Arthur stood, plugging the skin and watching Merlin do the same, then the youth sat down with Nero nestled in his lap, feeding the kestrel out of his hand. He remembered finding those two at their first meeting and thinking how very like Merlin to be so compassionately concerned about a blind creature.

In truth, he'd hidden from Merlin how much the story of Bruta and Sigan's bond had shaken him. That he retained the power to break their link, but Merlin couldn't defend himself―it didn't seem fair. He didn't doubt his loyalty to Merlin, just a future as yet unwritten. He could claim and promise he would never be his father, never try to be, and even then fall. His father had not anticipated the forces that could change a man so completely he'd murder hundreds to salve his conscience. Could he?

Balinor appeared next to Merlin, crouching down to speak with him. Their familial bond had strengthened throughout the journey, and although Arthur was pleased to see it, pangs of jealousy smote him at times to behold Balinor's devotion to his son. Merlin had what he'd always craved. If _his_ father had been different, he wouldn't be forced to undo a kingship done badly and wouldn't be hounded by the nagging doubt that his father had ever loved him without selfish purpose.

Arthur's gaze meandered to his two councilors digging into saddle bags on the eastern shore, though Lord Arnott fished aimlessly, critical sight honed in on Merlin and his father. He'd observed the lord staring at Balinor throughout the trip. Arnott would have been present when the dragonlord had been captured, tortured, and paraded through Camelot's streets. Had he made the connection? The lord looked away back to his saddle bag.

Arthur strode toward his largest knight. Only three of his elites had remained behind. He'd commanded Sir Lucan to utilize the rest in a security sweep of the area. "Percival," he addressed under his breath.

The knight bowed his head. "Sire."

"I want you to stick close to Merlin and his father and Nim..." Arthur faltered, but Percival spoke before he could correct his error.

"I already knew she wasn't his mother."

Arthur raised a brow.

"Gwaine and Elyan and I were hosted by Hunith," Percvial reminded him.

Yes. Of course. "Stay near all three."

"You fear danger?"

"I don't know what I fear. Just watch them."

"Yes, sire." Percival grabbed his own waterskin and headed their direction.

Arthur absently swiped the fringe off his forehead. Some time, he would have to reveal that his former scribe was a warlock. Jost might accept such a thing, but skeptical Arnott? Accusation could follow, assumptions that Merlin played on him the way the troll manipulated his father. Arthur well knew confidence in his father had slipped once the troll had been exposed. If it became known he'd harbored a secret sorcerer all these years, he could lose his people in day. He had no idea how to divulge the truth and spare himself and Merlin at the same time.

A flash of mail caught his eye, Sir Lucan beckoning from a copse of bushes. Arthur marched towards him. When they met, he kept striding into the forest, away from the bulk of their retinue.

"How many are with him?" Arthur asked.

"Only one," Sir Lucan answered.

"You're certain?"

"We circled around for a mile. There is no sign of anyone else."

Arthur nodded with appreciation more than assurance. After all, they were dealing with sorcerers. He wasn't sure scouting the area would matter if they decided to sneak up unseen.

Two figures came into view ahead, standing next to a pair of distinct trees, alder in a grove of blackthorn. Lancelot had arrived at the designated meeting place along with a man wearing a Druid robe. Arthur slowed.

"Lancelot," he greeted, sharing a wrist grip with the knight. Lancelot beamed with excitement and joy, like a child receiving a gift he'd begged for. A hint of pride sparked from his eyes as well, which Arthur didn't think he deserved, unable to forget that his own hand had killed the people of the man at his side.

"This is Aglain," Lancelot introduced.

The tall, dark-skinned man bowed his head, then raised gentle eyes. "We meet at last."

"At last," Arthur echoed. "Please sit. Sir Lucan offered you refreshment?"

Aglain held up a bowl. "Your hospitality is appreciated." He settled on one of the pallets and Arthur noted a cup of wine had already been poured for the Druid as well.

Arthur took his place after Lancelot, forcing himself not to wring his hands together and expose his nervousness. He had arranged with Lancelot to meet separate from the pool. He'd wanted to assess the success of the mission before making a formal declaration of his intentions to the wider group.

The Druid ate another bite and sipped at his wine. His dark eyes roamed Arthur's face, and the king felt like a child once more under the scrutiny of a critical tutor, though the Druid's tone was soft when he spoke. "I have only seen you from a distance. You seem even more worth our time up close."

Arthur lifted his brows at such a roundabout compliment and cleared his throat. "Does this mean I am to meet your elders?"

"It took some time to convince the elders to meet with you, but yes. Still, you must understand their concession does not mean they will accept you or whatever you offer."

Arthur nodded slowly. "I didn't think this would be easy."

"There are few of us who haven't lost kin during your father's reign. Most of our people deny you are their king. They may occupy your land, but they don't beholden themselves to you."

Arthur shifted where he sat. He needed at least one supporter and Lancelot had advised this man was his best chance. "And what do _you_ think of me?"

Aglain's eyes flicked to Lancelot. "A friend has whispered hope in my ear, and if this hope proves true, I will have a king once more."

Arthur glanced at Lancelot. He'd never be able to thank the man enough that even in his exile, he'd paved the way for his future king.

"I will guide you to a place where your people may camp. Then you will meet with the elders. I have been instructed to grant you only two companions."

"I may choose them?"

Aglain inclined his head towards Lancelot. "They ask for Lancelot. He has their trust."

Arthur smiled. "I would choose him anyway. The other?"

Aglain tilted his head, seeming cautious. "There is a boy with you. A youth?"

Arthur frowned at Lancelot. He'd told the knight to leave Merlin out of things for the time being. Before Lancelot could defend himself, the Druid continued.

"Lancelot said nothing to us of him. We were already aware of him."

"What do you know?" Arthur hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but worry colored his question. What insight did the Druids have that he hadn't anticipated?

"Enough that we require his presence. Without him, the elders will not meet with you and your negotiations will fail before they begin."

* * *

Thin light washed over Morgana. Opening her eyes, she spied weak sunshine filtering through a gap in distant stone. She snuggled closer into herself. She'd been sleeping dreamlessly, comfortable, at peace... She shot up and the bearskin she'd been wrapped in fell away.

"I thought to let you sleep longer, but time grows ever shorter."

Morgana blinked at the elderly man sitting next to her and smiling like a doting grandfather. Hadn't he said something about her being his descendent and... "Your eyes are as green as mine."

Taliesin handed another apple over to her. "I suppose you inherited them."

"Yes," she murmured and bit into the fruit, but she stared for a while longer before moving her gaze to a blank cavern wall. Yesterday had been a whirlwind of information, and as she reviewed what Taliesin had told her, she still wondered if any of it was true.

She'd disagreed vehemently when the old seer insisted Arthur Pendragon was the king of the Second Bond. He claimed he'd heard the name in his visions and the description he related could be Arthur but wasn't absolutely so. The warlock, on the other hand, he'd only seen vaguely, a foggy form standing over the king on his knees, suffocating, collapsing, dying...and then the end of Albion, a war, magic scouring the land in death. He was unsurprised over the warlock's lack of identity. On the contrary, it confirmed his interpretation of his sight. A warlock whose magic was so strong it hid him in visions _had_ to be able to create a linked bond. He'd begun to ask questions about her bracelet and when he discovered it was meant to block visions, insisted she remove it. He couldn't see the warlock, but she was closer to Arthur in both body and time. She might be able to perceive more than he. It was then she'd complained of a headache and slumped forwards. He'd helped her lay down and...she remembered nothing more. He must have put her to sleep.

Morgana chewed and listened to her pulse pound in her ears. She had feigned the headache. She'd been hoping to get away, at least for a time, to consider his words and decide if she was crazy to consider trusting the impossible. He'd laid in this cavern for hundreds of years? Just to meet her and save Camelot? It was ludicrous, and yet, how many times had others ignored her own prophetic dreams, considering them manifestations of her worries or fears or intuition, but not magic, never that. Yet she had known deep inside that every time she dreamed, magic flourished. She looked back at the elder man again. Dare she believe? Dare she trust?

She peered at the fruit in her hand and started. The apple thumped against the ground and rolled as she jumped to her feet, arm extended. "Give it back!"

Taliesin stared at her innocently. "What is it, my child?"

"My bracelet!" She jabbed a finger at her empty wrist. "Where is it?"

Taliesin cocked his head. "Did you sleep well?"

Morgana kept her hand out, but spat back. "Yes!"

"You didn't wear it while you slept."

She pulled her hand back. "What?"

He smiled. "You don't have to bind yourself. Do not fear the gift any longer."

"I want it back." Her voice was hoarse, her breath catching in her throat.

"I cannot give it to you. It is gone."

"What did you do?"

"Tossed it into the waterfall."

"No!" Morgana whirled, staggering back to the tunnel and the crevice. Taliesin called after her, but she ran faster, hurrying, lighting her way. She heard the roaring rush of water and squeezed back onto the ledge. Soft light. Morning? Evening? She didn't know. She peered over the ledge, heard footsteps behind, turned and struck out, slapping the man hard across the face.

"How dare you! It was all I had of my mother! How dare you...how...how..."

Taliesin's head had swiveled back to her after the blow, eyes watery and expression guilty. Had she just lashed out at an elderly man? She clutched her hands to her collarbone.

"Elaia always said I was rash...never thinking things through... Even all this." He waved his hand. "I left her crying in our doorway to bind myself to the future. I thought it the only way." He put his hand to his cheek. "Still I bring pain, even here." He turned towards the crevice, but Morgana reached out and grabbed his hand. He flinched, maybe afraid she meant to attack him again, but instead she covered the hand at his cheek with her own.

"I'm not usually like this. I didn't mean..."

"My child, I know. Nightmares and no escape. I took away your only security and it a family heirloom. Forgive my grievous error."

A lump clogged Morgana's throat, but she pushed it down. "Why did you do it?"

"Fear. To see all I planned come to naught. Without your sight, my sacrifice is wasted"

Tears pricked the corner of Morgana's eyes. "I'm afraid. Every time, it's suffering and evil and hurt... I don't know what to do or how to control it or..."

Taliesin moved his hand and she dropped hers, then he took both her hands in his own. He tugged at her, pulling until they knelt across from each other. Neither seemed aware of the waterfall's castoff drops sprinkling their clothing. "You have never been guided?"

"Never."

Taliesin's expression grew even more sorrowful. "The terror you must have faced. Of course you needed your bracelet to stave off the madness." He squeezed her hands. "I will see with you. Let us seek a simple sight. Close your eyes. Breathe slowly. Every heartbeat an echo in your mind."

Morgana stared for a few more seconds. She had only sought sight once―when Merlin had been taken by his father―and that had brought her to the crystal cave, to visions of Uther's end and her own guilt...but Merlin and Arthur had been saved as well. If Taliesin spoke the truth, Arthur was in danger. If she chose not to see, and Arthur died and Camelot fell, she didn't think she could bear more guilt heaped upon her weakened soul.

Morgana tightened her hold on Taliesin, closing her eyes and breathing as instructed. After a minute or so, the background roar of the falls and her relaxed motions lulled her into calm.

"Now, I will call your sight to the surface. Raise no barrier. Let it find a home in your mind."

Morgana's hands tingled, a warm magic streaming from Taliesin into her veins. It flowed upwards but stalled near her heart. She could sense an invisible wall constructed against helpless torment.

"Let go, Morgana. Free yourself."

She firmed her jaw, sucked in a shallow breath, and tore down the obstacle. Taliesin's magic surged, crashing against her own in mighty waves, filling her mouth and nose and ears. Her breath ceased. She was trapped in murky darkness, dank water pressing in on all sides. She clawed, desperate for air. There! Up! Light! Her fingers broke the surface and her body followed, thrust into pure white emptiness... And the world changed.

She stood on solid ground and saw a girl swinging a sword at a man answering in kind. A few more thrusts and the girl was disarmed. The attacker grabbed her round the waist and slammed her to the ground. She struggled and screamed, but he backhanded her once, twice. He yanked a knife from his belt and stuck it under her chin. The girl's terrified eyes brimmed with tears and she pleaded mercy, but he swore if she resisted, she'd die. He lifted her skirts, exposing her indecently, then fumbled with the laces of his trousers...

Morgana wretched. The scene disappeared, morphing into the ledge, and she continued to vomit. Gentle hands held back her hair. "I'm sorry. So sorry. Sorry." Taliesin's steady voice wound its way into her soul.

When she coughed out saliva and shakily fell backwards, Taliesin caught her in his arms, embracing her from behind, her head against his chest, carding fingers through her hair as if she were a little girl. "My guidance shouldn't have led you to something so odious. You must know this girl. The sight is always stronger when such is the case."

Morgana trembled in his arms. "Gwen. It was Gwen."

"Who is she?"

"My maidservant... _was_ my maidservant."

"You care for her."

Morgana twisted to look up at him. "When will it happen?"

"My dear. Visions that strong, that clear? It might be happening at this very moment."

* * *

Lebryt trotted at the back of the traveling column, Merlin keeping the steed well away from the rest of Arthur's retinue. Only an hour or two further and they'd be in Druid territory. Arthur had finally announced the purpose of his mission after a Druid elder had joined them―he meant to parley with the Druids. He'd made it clear the people his father had once persecuted would receive the highest respect from all of them. During Arthur's announcment, the Druid elder's eyes had fixed on Merlin and didn't waver for so long, he broke the stare himself. The Druid hadn't attempted to come near or converse with him...until now. The Druid shared Lancelot's mount, and the knight had slowed, pulling back to the end of the column to parallel Lebryt.

"Merlin."

Merlin acknowledged Lancelot's greeting with a nod, but concentrated on Arthur's back way at the front. The two councilors had ridden up next to him and a discussion had ensued. He guessed the king was getting an earful.

"You are Balinor." The voice drew Merlin's attention, the Druid elder addressing his father who rode next to him on one of Arthur's borrowed horses.

"Yes," Balinor answered shortly.

"And this is your son."

Balinor's jaw clenched and unclenched. "He is."

"May I speak to him alone?"

"No."

Merlin glanced between them, confused at the hostility. His father had always talked so positively about the Druids.

"I only wish to ask him..."

"I know what you wish to ask him. If I have turned him into Emrys to achieve what I couldn't."

The Druid, Aglain, raised an eyebrow. "Have you?"

"Of course he hasn't," Merlin interrupted. "He didn't even _want_ me to be Emrys."

"Why these questions, Druid?" Nimueh had worked her way to the other side of Lancelot's horse.

"There will be more to come," Aglain spoke quietly. "The elders are not so quick to assume the identity of this boy as they did another."

"They foist the blame on me?" Balinor bit back. "I would never have gone to Uther if they hadn't asked it of me."

Aglain sighed. "They don't blame you, they are just more cautious now and wisely so."

"The boy _is_ Emrys," Nimueh hissed. "I will testify to it."

"And you are a high priestess," Aglain returned, "who uses others for your own gain."

Lancelot looked disconcerted while Balinor voiced everyone's surprise. "You know who she is."

Aglain nodded to the cloaked woman. "The high priestess Nimueh."

Nimueh pushed back her hood so her face jutted out enough to glare at the elder. "Watch your tongue, Druid."

"I speak only the truth. The high priestesses wielded power with little thought for the consequences. That you usually kept to your Isle was a blessing to the kingdom."

Merlin caught Lancelot's eye. This was quickly dissolving into a very uncomfortable conversation.

"And your Druids hid as cowards, staying quiet to save your skins!"

"Nimeuh!" Balinor's sharp reprimand garnered attention from the two knights ahead of them.

"Father," Merlin whispered.

Balinor lowered his voice. "The Druids harbored many who fled Uther's decrees."

"Don't you understand?" Nimueh snapped. "The Druids will determine who your son is. And if they see in him the answer to prophecy, they will ask for him."

Merlin startled. "W-hat?"

"He must be properly trained," Aglain said.

"He will be. _I_ will teach him." Nimueh grinned triumphantly.

"The elders will not abide this." Aglain didn't seem angry, simply stating facts, and yet, the bile in Merlin's stomach roiled. His magic. Stirring again.

"Merlin's training is not up to _any_ of you," Lancelot chastised. "It is Merlin's choice how or when he wishes to be trained. None of you own him."

Merlin pulled back on Lebryt's reins. The adults turned to look at him, but thankfully continued on, letting him fall behind, probably because Lancelot was staring daggers at them, hand on his hilt. When they stopped staring at him, he let the magic stream off. Dried leaves below twined dancing patterns around Lebryt's legs. He felt a sudden urge to flee, turn back before it was too late. Before he could move, Arthur appeared at a full gallop and seeing him alone halted his own horse so they faced each other.

"You all right?" His forehead was creased in concern.

"You feeling my magic is _annoying_ ," Merlin declared. "Are you always going to come after me every time it happens?"

Arthur cocked his head. "When you learn to control it, maybe I won't have to."

"How did you know I wasn't just catching myself from falling off Lebryt?"

Arthur touched his chest. "It doesn't always feel the same."

Merlin knit his brow. "It doesn't?"

Arthur maneuvered his horse to his side and gestured ahead. They began walking their horses, lingering far enough from the group to chat privately. "When you lit the fire at the camp, it beat enough for me to be aware, but it wasn't as...frantic. When you get really upset it beats like war drums."

Merlin bit his lip. Well, then, another good reason to control it, to keep from freaking Arthur out all the time.

"So what was it?"

Merlin let out a large sigh. "The Druids want to know if I'm Emrys."

"You are."

"I know and you know, but they want to know. If they think I am...they want to take me."

"Take you?"

"Train me in their ways, I guess. Not Nimueh."

Arthur's expression grew dark. "No one's taking you."

"But if they want to and you try to stop them, they'll think you're against them and..."

"You won't be made a bargaining chip."

"Even if that loses you the parley?"

Arthur's eyes met his and both of them shared a look of dawning comprehension. It had been so easy back in Ealdor to pretend all that mattered was them, but with councilors and Druids and a high priestess and a dragonlord and the entire land of Camelot in the mix, everything was far bigger than them.

"We'll deal with that when the time comes," Arthur muttered.

"How?"

"I don't know, Merlin. I'm coming to believe all of this is way more out of my hands than I knew. But what else can I do? I have to talk to them, but I swear we won't be separated. They accept both of us or none."

Merlin let a slow nod bow his head. He clutched his reins, recalling words of the knights' code that Arthur had drilled into him: _A knight does not abandon his men. He fights to bring every last one home._ His king, his _friend_ , would never abandon him. Come what may, he would always be safe in Arthur's hands.

* * *

"Tauren! What news?" Alvarr called out when the bearded man staggered up to the front wagon, out of breath, probably having run most of the way and overnight. Alvarr had acquired only four horses, and these currently pulled two wagons transporting those ready to dispose of the Pendragon throne once and for all. The high priestess' followers had been left behind. He wasn't certain they were trustworthy, and besides, the high priestess hadn't returned to hear her sister had fled the cave and died. Who knew what she would do once that information came to light. An angry witch could only hinder their plans.

Tauren, the hood of his cloak thrown back to expose windblown locks, halted, hands on his knees, gasping out a report between deep breaths. "Couldn't get near the circle...elders guarding it... using shielding..."

Alvarr resisted punching the wagon seat. He should have guessed. The elders wouldn't want a chance of anyone getting wind of the parley, especially _them_. Damnation! They'd get themselves killed. This was why he'd left in the first place! He wasn't going to let any more of his people die on the altar of pacifism.

"There are enough of us," he growled. "We can take down a shield."

"Is Arthur there yet?"

The voice that shouted riled Tauren immediately who twirled around and nailed the youth with an angry gaze. "Morded! Sit down." He'd expressly ordered his men not to draw attention to themselves. Shouting, even if no one was within eyesight, risked the failure of their goal.

The youth smoldered and Cerdan sitting beside him in the wagon pulled on his hand to get him to settle down. Alvarr looked back at Tauren. "Well?"

"We don't know. We aren't sure how far the shield extends around the area. They might have let the king in without our knowledge."

Alvarr jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Rest with us for a time to regain your strength before you go back." Tauren had certainly magically increased his strength to run so far and would again, but with some refreshment, he'd regain his strength even sooner.

As Tauren climbed into the wagon, Alvarr slapped the reins on the horses' backs. The faster they got there the better. He heard Cerdan talking over a youth grumbling loudly. Young Mordred had become a problem once he'd found his voice again. Alvarr empathized with the boy's feelings but didn't trust him to follow instructions and not go after Arthur himself. He'd have to make sure Mordred stayed out of the action. The boy would hate him for it, but better their mission succeed without him than fail because of him.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I swear if I could stop getting sick every two weeks, I'd get these chapters out a lot faster! Hey, dear readers! Well, I got sick _again_ and here's to hoping I stay well. When I wrote this chapter, it ended up so long I decided to split it into two parts. The good news is that means the second part is already written and just in the editing phase. My goal is to have it up tomorrow. So there is more to come! Thanks for sticking with me and continuing to read, follow, favorite, and review!


	91. Clutching at Straws, Part II

A churning gust of air swirled, tossing out two figures, one that barely caught herself from falling to all fours and a second shaking from head to toe.

"Where is she?" Morgana gasped, stumbling around like an insatiable lord that had downed too much wine at a feast.

"I should not have done this." Taliesin coughed roughly.

"Where are the rivers?" Morgana demanded. "The Godetane, the Cresmont, where they meet. That's where I saw her!"

Taliesin lurched to her side. "I said this was unwise and dangerous. The kingdom I knew is not the one you know."

"The rivers haven't moved."

"They could have if..."

Frantic, Morgana snatched his arm. "She isn't here."

Taliesin grasped her hand on his arm, removing it, but squeezing gently. "We are fortunate we live. I almost lost my foot at the ankle once to that infernal spell. Even then, it took two of my toes."

"Gwen!" Morgana shouted.

"Perhaps we are too early...or too late."

Morgana tore her hand out of his grasp and kept perfectly still, straining her ears.

"I am sorry. The visions can be unstable. Though some hold on through the years, like your Arthur Pendragon."

"Hush!" Morgana closed her eyes. She thought she'd heard... Voices! She hiked up her skirts with one hand and ran as hard as she had when racing Arthur in her youth. She spied two forms through the trees, one sporting the blue traveling cloak she had gifted her maidservant two years ago. The other was a man, tall and imposing even from behind. She picked up her pace and their conversation became clear.

"So you travel alone," the man spoke deeply. "You could do with some protection."

"I don't really need a companion, but..." Gwen caught sight of her and whispered, "Morgana."

The man hadn't even turned halfway when her shouted spell sent him sailing through the air, flipping end over end, and sliding across hard packed earth. Concentrating all the magic she could muster in her fingertips as her sister had taught her, Morgana stalked to the groaning man, fingers extended like viscous claws. The man wobbled to his knees, shaking his head in confusion. She grabbed his hair, wrenching his head back. " _B_ _esnæde_!" Her fingers swiped through the air in front of his face and the man screamed as five cuts sprang across his left cheek. " _B_ _esnæde_!"Bloody streaks welled from his right forehead to his left jaw, slicing through his lips along the way. Morgana's fingers hovered in front of the man's bare neck. " _Bes_ _―_ "

"Morgana!"

Gwen's shocked cry pulled her back from a red fog and the man's lifeblood leaking from hideous gashes came into stark focus. She let go his hair to grasp his clothing at the neck and bent down to look him in the eyes. "You _ever_ try to take any woman's will again and you won't live to see another morning."

She let him go with a shove and he pitched backwards, then scrambled to his feet and ran. She twirled around with a smirk, but it vanished at the wide-eyed fear emanating from her maidservant. "Gwen." She strode towards her, and the girl backed away. She halted. "He was going to hurt you. I saw it in a vision." Gwen's eyes flicked behind her. Morgana briefly peered over her shoulder at Taliesin.

"You don't see visions anymore." Gwen's voice trembled.

Morgana raised her arm to display her bare wrist. "The bracelet's gone. I'm seeing the dreams again, and I saw you." She pointed at the elderly man to her left. "This is Taliesin. He's helping me learn to see. Gwen. Please. Believe me. I would never lie to you."

Gwen hesitated only two more brief seconds, then ran, closing the distance between them. Morgana barely braced herself as the girl threw her arms around her and began to cry. She cradled the girl's small form, unable to hold back her own tears. "I had to find you."

"Shhhh. You did. I'm here."

The girl craned her neck upwards. "I knew you were on our side. No one else was sure, but I knew you could never turn on us."

Morgana's heart skipped a beat. "So Lancelot...He thinks..."

"He wants to believe, he does. He's just...uncertain." An invisible knife dug into her heart, but Gwen hurried on. "But he didn't tell Arthur you have magic. He didn't want to him to think worse of you..." The girl snapped her lips closed, guilt crossing her features at words that had revealed Arthur still detested her.

Morgana raised her chin and scowled at Taliesin. "I don't think you have to worry about Arthur ever bonding with a warlock. He hates magic."

Gwen broke away from her. "Bonding?"

Morgana laughed scathingly. "He's worried. He thinks _Arthur_ would bond with a warlock." How could she be so naive as to listen to another sorcerer manipulating her for self-serving purposes?

Taliesin stepped closer to her. "The vision filled my dreams again last night. I see the king and warlock and hear in my ears the whisper of the bonding."

Gwen's eyes darted between them both. "Arthur _is_ bonded."

Taliesin waved a dismissive hand. "Already? Impossible."

"But..." Gwen's dark eyes laid on her. "I wasn't supposed to tell about...but you have to know. Arthur, he's removing the ban on magic."

Morgana's stomach flipped. "He's...but you said...what he thinks of me..."

"He thinks you didn't tell him Morgause was your sister so she could attack Camelot. But that's not true, is it? You can go back with me. Tell him the truth."

Morgana could barely breathe. It couldn't be that easy. "Uther... You saw what I did, Gwen. I know you did."

"I...saw _something_. But I trust you."

Morgana's chin trembled and she forced back tears. How did she deserve such blind trust? She had been certain she had torn down every bridge she'd left behind in Camelot. Memories of Arthur weeping over his father's body and shouting at her passed through her mind. Surely that bridge had burned irrevocably. "Why is he removing the ban?"

Gwen smiled. "There was a girl accused. She used magic to make her cow produce more milk. Arthur refused to punish her."

Morgana's ears buzzed, the hairs on her arms stood on end. All she'd been told by Morgause, that Arthur would always hate magic, that he would kill anyone like her, had it been a lie?

"And...there's Merlin, too."

A raven headed boy she had doted on but hardly thought of since she'd fled came back to mind, bowing over a dying king and desperately trying to save him. "He knows about Merlin's magic?"

Gwen started. "And you do?"

"I...found out that day...when Morgause came..."

Gwen stepped forward, clasping her hands. "He does have magic. He healed me." Morgana realized the girl used her right arm freely. "And he and Arthur, they connected somehow, linked together by magic."

Taliesin shook his head vehemently. "No. He cannot be bonded yet."

Gwen's brow knitted. "I don't know much about magic, but that is what Arthur said. He feels when Merlin does magic. And he's going to the Druids. He's going to meet with them and make things right. Morgana, you can come home."

Morgana's hands tightened on Gwen's. Could she actually get back the life she had lost?

Taliesin had been pacing, frowning, mumbling. He whirled round. "When did the king bond?"

Gwen looked to Morgana who nodded her assurance. "Erm...a week ago? Maybe more."

The seer stamped a foot. "I saw the vision yesterday! The warlock _will_ try to kill the king."

"Merlin would _never_ do anything to Arthur," Gwen protested, eyes angry and round.

Morgana agreed. "He wouldn't and he can't. Didn't you tell me Sigan couldn't kill Bruta? If Merlin is bonded to Arthur, he cannot kill him."

Taliesin stomped up to her, breaking Gwen's hold to clutch her hands in his. "You _must_ see what I see. My time grows ever shorter and I am certain the king will die and all Camelot come to an end. We must understand what I have seen!"

Morgana stared. He was so very sure. She'd barely had time to comprehend that Arthur would lift the ban on magic or accept Merlin and choose to bond with him, but she didn't have the luxury of time. If Taliesin was right, she might lose what she'd dared to believe she could get back—her friends, and her home, maybe even Arthur. She had to see and know. She nodded at the old man. "Show me."

* * *

Arthur nodded to Lancelot as the knight drew up alongside him but locked eyes with Aglain, meeting a gaze that he'd caught studying him most of the trip since the Druid joined them.

"We're nearing the meeting point," Lancelot said. "Aglain says we're already within a shielded area."

"Shielded?"

"For safety only," the elder assured. "Yours and ours. No one will be allowed inside or out of our shield during the parley."

Arthur clenched gloved fists. "You didn't mention this before."

"To be honest, the other elders instructed me not to tell you everything."

Arthur scanned the area. "I don't see a shield."

"It isn't visible. We maintain it magically with several of our own. You didn't see the one who let us through. You weren't meant to."

Arthur readjusted in his saddle. His father had hunted the Druids, tracked them, ambushed them. What could he expect but robust caution? "Why not use shields to conceal your camps?"

"Large shields require too much energy. Only those strong enough and skilled enough can cast them and then only for short periods of time. Those of our people shielding this area are doing so in shifts and still they will need a week's rest to recover."

Arthur tried to ignore his insides squirming now that he knew he was trapped inside a magical barrier. Instead he honed in on feelings of regret. If they _had_ been able to shield all their camps, maybe he would never have found the one his father ordered him to obliterate, and the guilt of his actions wouldn't be weighing heavier with every step.

"Up ahead." Lancelot nodded forward. Several pitched tents had appeared, though no people milled about.

"This is where your people will wait," Aglain said. "You will continue on foot."

Arthur's heartbeat hammered. Now that the moment was at hand, he was unsure he'd made the right decision to parley on Druid terms. What if it all went wrong? He looked over his shoulder as he dismounted and spied a red neckerchief and raven head. His pulse steadied. It would be okay because Merlin would be with him.

Aglain hiked farther away after Lancelot aided him off Pomers, disappearing into the trees.

"He said to wait," Lancelot noted.

Arthur unbuckled his belt to remove his sword. Lancelot copied the action. They had sworn to come unarmed but removing the sword jangled Arthur's nerves again. He hadn't anticipated feeling so vulnerable. He spat out the question on his lips before he'd thought it through, perhaps seeking distraction by confronting his friend. "Did you know?"

"Know...?"

"Morgana had magic."

Lancelot froze.

"You did. It wasn't just the Druids or Merlin you were arguing for. It was her. All this time."

"Arthur... I should have told you, I know..."

"But you love her." Arthur tugged off his gloves. "You think they'll let us keep the chain mail?"

"We...need to talk about..."

"No, we don't." He strapped his belt back on absent his sword as he marched towards his retinue gathering in front of the tents. He held up his hands to gain their attention and quiet them. "These tents have been provided for your use. The Druids have requested only three of us appear before their elders. Lancelot and Merlin will accompany me. The rest of you will make camp."

A cacophony of protests arose, mainly knights arguing Arthur couldn't possibly be protected by just one soldier, yet it was Lord Arnott's shrill declaration that sounded over all. "They will attempt to kill you, my lord!"

Arthur sighted Merlin and stifled a smile. Heaven help them if they tried to harm him with Merlin at his side. "My safety isn't at risk. Obey my orders." When he turned back, Aglain had appeared again, waiting at the northern edge of the tents.

A smattering of grumbling sounded in Arthur's ears as he strode away, but only Lancelot and Merlin came after him. The knight marched to his left, Merlin on his right. He wondered if he looked as anxious as the youth. He reached out to tousle wispy hairs grown overly long at the back of Merlin's neck; the boy needed his hair cut again. "Nothing will go wrong," he assured. Merlin sent him a half-smile, though Arthur didn't think his assertion had done much good, but he'd said it as much for himself as the warlock.

When they reached Aglain, the Druid turned and guided them into the forest. They walked for some time before breaking through onto a solid plain. Arthur narrowed his eyes, surveying the area. He'd never seen this place, a level grassy field, empty except for several large stones off in the distance.

"I will not let him go alone." The three men and singular youth whipped around. Nimueh stood glaring at them with her arms folded over her chest.

"My orders were to stay back," Arthur snarled.

Aglain stepped in front of them to face the former high priestess. "Your presence will only hinder the king."

"I don't come for him but Emrys," Nimueh objected. "Though my presence with the king should prove his change in attitude towards our kind."

Aglain sighed sadly as if he hated to be the bearer of disappointing tidings. "It would if they didn't suspect a trick." He looked to Arthur. "Many believe your attempt at peace is only a cover for a plan to murder the rest of us."

Pooling blood on pale corpses flashed in Arthur's sight, dead Druid children strewn across a home turned graveyard. "I swear to you, I only wish for peace. There will be no more unwarranted violence against your people."

"I've told the elders this, but Uther employed this high priestess once as well. Some think it possible you hold something over her to force her into your service. Others refuse to give audience to a priestess. There was no love lost between the sisters and Druids in former days."

"I will _not_ let the Druids take Emrys!"

Aglain stood straighter. "You will not be allowed to come further."

"What about me?" Balinor emerged from the trees. Arthur threw his hands into the air. How many others had disobeyed his orders to sneak after them?

"I admit, we hadn't expected you to come along."

"Merlin is my son. I demand the right to walk with him."

Aglain glanced at the plain. Another Druid had appeared near the stones and was walking briskly towards them. He turned back. "The dragonlord may come if the high priestess returns to the tents."

Nimueh scowled and opened her mouth, but a look from Balinor silenced her. She nodded curtly and vanished back into trees.

"Arthur Pendragon," Aglain addressed him. "The elders will not let you come to them unfettered. They require your binding."

"What?" Merlin squawked.

"Not all of you, just the king."

Lancelot eyed Aglain warily. "You didn't tell me this, friend." The address held more warning than endearment.

"He _has_ killed Druids. I tried to talk them out of this, but they insisted."

"No!" Merlin's shout was accompanied by a rustling on the ground and several rocks clattered in the grass. Arthur grasped Merlin by the shoulders as the double heartbeat began to drum faintly.

"I accept. Let them." His eyes bore into Merlin's, conveying what he couldn't in words― _You'll be with me. Don't worry. Nothing will happen to me._ He leaned close to Merlin's ear and whispered, "Don't do anything stupid."

The other Druid had reached them. "This is Eamon," Aglain introduced. "He will secure your hands. In front, if you will."

Arthur tamped down rising panic. No matter what they required, he knew the inclusion of Lancelot and Merlin made the likelihood of not coming back alive far less likely. He held out his hands touching at the wrists. Eamon produced a thin cord and went to work winding it around and between his wrists several times. The binding was secure, but not painful. The Druid spoke some words and the cord glowed.

"The binding cannot be undone without magic," Aglain explained. "Come. Follow Eamon."

The Druid Arthur assumed some kind of guard took the lead. When they drew close enough to the stones, Arthur realized the slabs been purposefully erected. Several pairs of roughly rectangular rocks stood on end with others laid across their tops. The arch-like structures formed a circle. Seven men sat outside the circle, just in front of one end, clustered together. They stopped chatting when Arthur appeared to watch his approach. Eamon pointed to a place about five meters away from them. Arthur sat, as did Lancelot, Merlin, and Balinor. Aglain took a place at the far left end of the line of elders.

"Aglain!" a wizened elder called out, appearing so wrinkled Arthur could barely believe he was alive. "Only two should have come with him."

"Don't you recognize him?"

The wrinkled old man squinted. "Hmmm..."

"Balinor," a grey-bearded elder identified. "You bring a dragonlord?"

"He came with the king." Arthur smiled inwardly at the note of vindication in Aglain's tone.

"The one we once thought Emrys joins with a Pendragon." Disbelief colored the statement.

"The youth is his son."

All attention fell on Merlin, who shifted next to Arthur and studied the grass, biting his lip. The faintest hint of an echoing beat pattered in Arthur's heart, but Merlin kept the magic under control.

"So, the dragonlord thinks him Emrys does he?" the wrinkled elder cackled.

"The question concerning the boy's identity will be decided later," another elder interrupted with an heir of authority. His white hair almost touched his shoulders and a day's scruff covered his chin. His eyes bore intelligence and at his statement, the other elders grew quiet. "I am Iseldir. And you, Arthur Pendragon, are unworthy of the life you were granted."

Arthur laced his fingers together in his lap, warning himself to stay calm. He hadn't expected to be welcomed with open arms. Lancelot's hands fisted on his knees. Merlin's head snapped up, but his father nudged him in the arm and he lowered his eyes again, lips pinched tight. It must be killing him to keep silent, but he'd told Merlin to let him speak until they understood the lay of the land.

"Or so some of us believe." He glanced left and right at his fellow elders. "We are here to determine if you are indeed a changed man or if this is simply an illusion to bring your army close enough to destroy the remnant of our people."

"May I speak?" Arthur shifted to his knees when Iseldir inclined his head in affirmation. He breathed deeply then launched into the speech he'd prepared. "The Druids were once friends of Camelot. We lived in harmony, exchanging trade and knowledge. When Camelot was wounded, they came to our aid. I was unaware of this history until recently. Now that I realize―"

"We don't need a history lecture on our own people!" a brown bearded elder sporting a scar across his forehead protested.

"Turi," Iseldir reprimanded softly.

"He wastes our time."

"I don't mean to lecture you," Arthur defended. "I only mean to say I'm grateful for your contributions to Camelot and I wish for peace between us once more."

Turi snorted. "Your tongue is forked."

The other elders had begun to frown at him, and Arthur spoke quickly, afraid his mission was failing at the very start. "I understand what you think of me. I did follow my father, but I regret what was done to you. This will change in my reign. I have already..."

Turi's hand yanked something out of his belt so swiftly Arthur hardly registered the dagger winging his direction. He'd barely flinched when it stopped, hovering in the air a hair's breadth from his right pupil. His heartbeat pounded in time with a drumming echo. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin's hand raised. Lancelot snatched the knife from the air and tossed it away. Arthur's shoulders sagged as he fought to regain his breath.

"I promised he was safe!" Aglain had jumped to his feet.

Iseldir stood as well, shouting. "We agreed not to harm him! We kill this man and prove we are a threat. Will you bring the entire army down on us?" He wildly gestured at Eamon, then Turi. "Take him!"

Turi growled but allowed Eamon to guide him away towards the forest. Several of the elders mumbled and shot Arthur hateful glares.

"If you wish to join Turi, go!" None took Iseldir up on his offer. Iseldir and Aglain retook their seats. The leader sighed and looked wearily at Arthur. "That was not sanctioned. He will be dealt with."

Arthur swallowed thickly. "I understand." Why did he ever think he could entreat with the Druids? Too many years of anger and hate and resentment had boiled under the surface.

"There are many who hate you and all you stand for. Perhaps you _have_ decided to befriend magic." He nodded to Balinor and Merlin. "The presence of magic wielders at your side is good, but your father's hand exterminated hundreds of us after lulling us with promises of peace. He hunted us with traitors turned on their kind. How can you show us your heart is not your father's?"

Arthur straightened and met each elder's eye one by one as he answered. "The ban on magic will be lifted. My council is already preparing to rescind it. You can practice magic without fear." His announcement sent the elders whispering to one another.

Iseldir eyed Balinor. "Is this true?"

Balinor nodded. "Yes. You can trust his word."

"That's what you said about Uther," the wizened elder spat out.

Balinor ground his jaw. "I misjudged his offer of peace."

"And what is to say you haven't misjudged this offer as well?" Another elder with a distinctive purple robe and hoarse voice barked the question.

"Because my son, _Emrys_ , has bonded with him."

The elders eyed each other. Iseldir folded his hands in his lap. "The bond and the prophecy. We wish to discuss these, but not with you." His eyes indicated Arthur.

"Ask him the question," an elder rumbled in a bass tone.

"The truth concerning this youth matters to us," Iseldir said. "But it cannot change the past. Arthur Pendragon, your own hand moved against us, did it not?"

"It did. I..."

"And _what_ did it do?"

Blood. Wails. Death. "I...don't remember the details."

"We do."

"We've talked of this." Aglain spoke defensively. "He was young. Living in his father's shadow, following his lies."

Iseldir's gaze didn't waver from Arthur's face. "Is this your defense?"

Panic thumped Arthur's chest. It would be so easy to agree. "I...have no defense." He lifted his chin. He wouldn't be a coward and lie to save his honor. "I killed men. I didn't use my sword against women and children, but I led the soldiers who did. I accept responsibility. My men acted under my command." Some elders had looked away from him, others stared intently. "I thought to bring a gift to you, some recompense, but what can make up for the lives lost? I..." His throat closed up. Lancelot squeezed his shoulder; Merlin leaned close to him, shoulder to shoulder. "I want to bring them back to you, wipe away what I did..." He blinked at unshed tears. "Nothing I can ever do will change the horrors you've suffered. But I can promise that now that I am king, the Druid people will be treated with the respect they deserve. I give you my word. "

"He tried to arrest them." Merlin's voice was low, on edge. "I was there when he raided your camp. He didn't want to kill them. It wasn't his fault. You can't blame him for it."

"Perhaps he's only earned your grace because you were spared." The purple robed elder's snarled accusation brought Merlin to his feet.

"He wants peace!" The ground rocked, the stone arches trembled. "He's trying to make everything right? Don't you want that?" The ground churned, clouds of dirt tossing up grass and dust.

"Merlin!" both Arthur and Balinor cried out at the same time.

Merlin whirled around, balling his fists and screwing his eyes shut before the ground stopped shaking. The Druids stared wide-eyed and their reactions tumbled over each other.

"He must be Emrys!"

"It's a trick to make us think he is."

"If he didn't want peace, would he let a dragonlord come with him?"

"What does it matter who he brings? He could trick them, too!"

"His heart is as black as his father's. He'll turn on us like Uther."

"Fools! No Pendragon is worth the risk!"

"We can't go on like we have. What if there's a chance?"

"Kill him now. Have done with it!"

"Silence!" The elders quieted. Iseldir spoke to Arthur. "My people are conflicted. We desire peace, but most of us can't accept our murderer. Even if you free us, the blood on your hands will never wash away."

Words stuck in Arthur's throat. He could negotiate with his councilors, rely on his station to bend their wills, but these people? He'd desecrated their good will and even the hint of his authority was a threat.

Iseldir beckoned Eamon who had returned. "You will leave us." He pointed to Arthur and Lancelot. "The youth and the dragonlord will stay."

Eamon hauled Arthur upwards by his upper arm. "Merlin is not on the negotiating table―"

"Your desires do not rule here!" Iseldir shouted, anger slipping through, but he quickly regain his composure, pursing his lips and speaking carefully. "We will send the boy and his father to you when we have talked with them. You have my oath."

Eamon swung Arthur around and pushed him in the back the direction they'd come. Arthur craned his neck to look backwards, meeting Merlin's panicked blue eyes . Arthur schooled his features and nodded encouragement to him, though bile roiled the pit of his stomach. His father had ruined things too far. No, _he_ had. He'd left a Druid camp decorated with broken corpses, the bodies of women and children exposed to rot in the sun and feed wild animals. He could never repay this debt and his kingdom would suffer the consequences.

* * *

Merlin had stood to watch the Druid guard shepherd Arthur and Lancelot away, and when they'd retreated almost to the trees rounded on the elders. "I'll stay with you if you make peace with him."

Iseldir bobbed a hand indicating Merlin should sit. The head elder spoke as his father grabbed his sleeve to direct him back to the ground. "We won't bargain our decisions regarding Arthur Pendragon, but your identity _is_ of great importance to us."

"I'm Emrys," Merlin declared. "From the prophecy."

"And what is the prophecy?" Iseldir questioned.

"That the Golden Prince and Emrys will bring peace to Camelot and unite Albion."

"And what does this mean?"

Merlin let out a huffing laugh. Wasn't it obvious? "It means Arthur will make peace and I'll help him."  
"You're certain of this?"

"Stop playing with the boy!" Balinor snapped. "You've never all agreed on the meaning. It's why you foisted it on me."

"And you were more than willing," the wizened elder spat out.

"I wanted peace. You wanted peace. The end of death. You know what I suffered."

"And what if it's only wishful thinking to believe this son of yours is what you couldn't be?"

"He's not doing that!" Merlin squashed down magic waves raising gooseflesh all over his skin. Gods, he needed his magic to stop. "When I was at your camp, I know they knew I was Emrys. They kept looking at me like they knew something."

Iseldir nodded thoughtfully. "That was when we began to discuss you."

"You did?"

"Two messengers were sent from that camp before Arthur Pendragon's raid to report the possibility of Emrys' prophetic arrival. We were as divided then as we are now." He glanced at his fellow elders, then looked back to Merlin and held out his hands, palms upwards. "Who is Emrys? Is the prophecy literal or figurative? Is it a symbol of hope for better times or an actual peering into the future? Is Emrys a warrior as most believe, come to judge our enemies? Or has fate sent us a _child_ in answer to our prayers?"

Merlin didn't miss the nods at various parts of the man's speech and the dismissive scoffs at others. The people he'd always imagined as practical and conciliatory couldn't even agree amongst themselves about him. How would they ever agree about Arthur?

"So, Merlin, explain to us why we should believe you are the savior we've waited for all these years. Prove this prophecy is about _you_."

"Why did the camp send messengers about him if he isn't Emrys?" Balinor interjected. Merlin nodded to his father and waited for the answer.

"Very few who are not Druids hear voices in their minds, much less a voice giving specific instruction. Emrys, it is said, can hear into realms unknown to man."

"But as the boy is your son," the elder in the purple robe noted, "we now know he must have heard a dragon, so he hasn't heard anything unique."

Merlin chewed his lip. He'd never known the prophecy said anything about hearing into realms unknown to man. He suddenly realized he'd heard versions of the prophecy, but had never asked for a comprehensive description. "Can you tell me the prophecy?" There were several mocking laughs and derisive smiles. Merlin glared. He must sound a right idiot not even knowing the entire prophecy himself, but Iseldir obliged.

"The prophecy says that a Golden Prince will be born when another life is sacrificed for his. Emrys will be born in response to his rise, the greatest warlock of his time. And when Emrys walks the path of the Golden Prince, Camelot will command glory and herald the uniting of Albion."

Merlin stared. How could they not see the fulfillment right in front of them! "That's Arthur and me. Arthur was born when his mother died. And then I was born after him. And now we're bonded and Arthur is here asking for peace―harmony."

"As I said, the views of the prophecy differ..."

"How much proof will satisfy you?" Balinor threw his hands in the air. "I didn't want my son to be Emrys, didn't believe he could be Emrys. But your own traditions speak of the greatness of Emrys, born in magic. Merlin has been born in magic. He can work it without words. Even so, I still refused to believe until he faced the cave where time stands still."

"He's been in the cave?" an elder with a full blond beard spoke for the first time.

"He saw the past and the present and the future. And he silenced the magic of the crystals to break their hold on Arthur Pendragon. I saw the truth myself. The crystals showed me the knitting together of Emrys in the womb of the woman I love." Balinor blinked quickly and Merlin's own eyes watered to behold his father's emotion well up in involuntary tears.

Iseldir rubbed at his chin. "Compelling evidence." At least two other elders agreed, nodding and echoing, "Aye."

"Compelling?" The purple robed elder pointed at him. "A _boy_ , a _servant_ under a Pendragon, the man who admits his crimes before us? Would the divine make the Golden Prince a killer and our enemy?" He angrily stared down Merlin. "Accepting this boy will kill us all!"

"That won't happen! It..." Merlin's protest was lost as the elders descended into chaos, arguing and shouting, the most vocal loudly proclaiming how ludicrous it was to link the sacred name of Emrys with Pendragon. They'd risk themselves, their people, and all they had left on the word of a dragonlord and a child?

"You shame our ancestors!" The sharp accusation screamed over them all shocked the elders to silence. Aglain held his arms aloft, eyes fiery. "You say we are victims, better than our enemies, our way of life superior, and then fight amongst yourselves! Emrys has come or he has not, but we are still dying. We will lose _everything_ if we do not entreat with the new king. He can help us. We won't have to scrape for food or land or avoid towns out of fear. Don't you wish a better life for your children?"

"So, Aglain," the purple robed elder replied, "you think it worth the risk to trust the man who killed your brother?"

Merlin and Balinor shared a startled glance. Arthur killed Aglain's brother?

Aglain shook a fist at his fellow objecting elder. "I will not see any more die. If he wishes to wash his hands clean, I am willing to see it done."

"He can never be clean," the wrinkled elder argued quietly. "His heart is darkest night."

"What say you, Iseldir?" the blond bearded elder asked.

The lead elder shook his head helplessly. "If we could look into his..."

Harried yells arrested the Druid's reply. "Attack! Betrayal!"

All the elders stood at once. Merlin and his father rose as well, the latter laying a steadying hand on his son's shoulder. Two Druids were running across the grassy plain. When they arrived, one spoke between labored breaths.

"Weylin and Dearg...unconscious...the shield...down in the east...sounds...there..."

Merlin whirled towards a faint metallic clanging. What was―

"Swords," Iseldir shot him a glance and the elders began to shout again.

"The king. He brought an army!"

"I said this was folly!"

"He thinks to kill us all!"

"He wouldn't hurt you!" Merlin shouted.

Most of the elders rushed towards the woods. Merlin made to join them, but pulled up short when the purple robed elder blocked his way.

"I'm sure Arthur hasn't done anything," Merlin pleaded.

"Let the boy pass," his father's voice rang above him.

The elder sadly shook his head. "We were tricked once. This time we are not so easily betrayed."

Merlin yelped when a scratchy fabric shrouded his head from behind and he was kicked to the ground, arms wrenched behind his back.

"Your king, little sorcerer, has no need of you." Merlin recognized the voice of the elder who had flung the dagger at Arthur as his wrists were circled in cord.


	92. The Way Forward

The hike back to the tents was interminable for Arthur, affording him an uncomfortable amount of time to think. He would, of course, lift the ban on magic and respect the Druids no matter their decisions regarding him, but peace between them could ease the way for the reluctant to accept his instituted changes. A cooperation between Camelot and the Druids would challenge attitudes like his that had been deeply tainted by the Purge.

"I'm sorry that didn't go the way you wanted," Lancelot spoke under his breath, probably because Eamon still followed close behind them.

"I didn't expect immediate acceptance, but...I did assume there would be hope." He looked to his bound wrists. "I was naive. I thought they'd trust a hand extended in friendship." He raised his hands to Lancelot. "I should have understood how deep runs the hate when they required _this_."

"Aglain doesn't hate you," Lancelot argued.

Arthur snorted. "He's just one man."

"One man can turn the tide of battle."

Arthur met Lancelot's hard gaze. Well, yes, he'd often repeated that in training sessions, hadn't he?

"But it isn't just one man, either. There are Druids in every tribe that want an end to conflict. Iseldir is one of them. Aglain says he's a careful man, but he desires peace more than anything. He just wants to assure it comes about in the best way possible for his people."

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. He and Iseldir were similar, men shouldering the burden of leadership with the expectations of so many riding on their decisions.

"Besides, in the tribes, they joke about how slow the elders are when it comes to big decisions, and this one is gigantic."

Lancelot's humorous smile lightened Arthur's mood. This was just the beginning. He needn't assume it a failure. Dialogue had been opened and more would follow. Perhaps even right now, Merlin was making a convincing case. Arthur chuckled to himself, imagining the elders getting an earful about how wonderful and amazing he was from their prophesied Emrys. A little leap fluttered in his gut. What if he'd refused to let Merlin accompany him after the Druid raid? He shuddered to think what he would have become absent the boy's influence in his life.

Lancelot looked behind them. "Can you not unbind him?" Arthur peered over his shoulder at Eanom.

"When we reach your camp."

Arthur sighed. They weren't taking any chances. White tents appeared through the trees not long after. Those outside stood and pointed when they caught sight of their king returning, though they also began to talk animatedly amongst themselves, likely wondering where Merlin and Balinor were.

Eanom grasped Arthur's bound hands at the edge of the camp. The man had just begun to murmur words of magic when something lifted Arthur right off his feet. He yelped in surprise and then lost his breath when he continued to rapidly ascend, halting above the camp at a height at least double his tallest man. His knights stared up at him, and several began yelling at Eanom. A flash, and three bolts of fire rushed to their target⸻a king unable to defend himself. He would have been incinerated in an instant if the flames hadn't snuffed out mere feet from him. Nimueh stood below him, hands outstretched. There was shouting and screaming and the high priestess snarled as she prevented a fourth bolt from turning him into kindling.

"You are betrayed."

* * *

"What the devil?"

The flummoxed exclamation sounded above Merlin before his wrists had been wound tight. The pressure immediately lifted, and he shook off the cord at the same time he rolled onto his back. Snatching off the bag covering his head, be beheld Turi grappling with a kestrel stampeding his head.

Merlin's eyes burned. Stones embedded in the ground under their feet dug themselves out, rattled against each other, and then went flying.

"Nero!" Merlin shrieked. The kestrel flapped away just in time to miss being hit by the rocks that pummeled into Turi and the purple robed elder. The men resisted for a brief moment, shouting spells, but the rocks just...grew bigger? The elders retreated towards the forest, the stones in hot pursuit. Merlin chanted desperately, but the stones refused to obey his command to halt.

"Are you all right?" Balinor knelt next to him. A large red mark decorated his temple.

"They hit you?" Merlin asked.

Balinor shook his head quickly before averting a guilty gaze. "No."

"Was it the _rocks_?" He'd hurt his father?

"Don't think on it." Balinor grabbed his hand and hauled him upwards. "We need to get to the camp." Merlin ran after his father.

The noise of battle grew louder, shouts and screams and weapons clashing. When the tents appeared through the trees, Merlin sent his sight ahead. He couldn't identify who fought on which side. A number of Druids were firing spells and conjuring shields. Some seemed to be fighting each other. Camelot knights had mostly been subdued and swords divested. Merlin noted all of this in less than a second, because the clear target, the one meant to die, was hovering over the battle in the air.

Arthur, hands still bound, shouted and cried out, but no one was listening. Merlin wasn't even sure they _could_ hear him over the barrage of crackling flames assaulting his position, coming so close before winking out of existence. Druids shot spells at enemies on the ground, but also at Arthur every chance they could get, though none hit their target. Nimueh crouched underneath Arthur, right hand lifted his direction, eyes red-hot, utilizing every ounce of her strength. Sheen glistened on her forehead. A shot aimed for her, too, but hit an invisible barrier she maintained her with her other hand. She was shielding herself _and_ stopping the flaming bolts from reaching Arthur, but Merlin could tell she wouldn't be able to keep on for much longer.

Wrath seared his stomach, his chest, his brain. He dropped his sight, put on a burst of speed, and emerged in the clearing. Without a word, he raised his hands and loosed his magic. A raging inferno erupted from a fire that had been assembled in the center of the camp, blasting skyward, passing Arthur who followed its ascent in shock. It reached a frightening height, then plummeted back to earth, flaring outwards, thrashing everything in its path. People screamed, conjured spells, ran, ducked, hid.

Someone shook Merlin violently. "Stop!"

Merlin twisted to his father and the red fog clouding his vision disintegrated. He fought for breath as if he'd just run a thousand laps around the jousting arena. His knees buckled, but Balinor caught him before he tumbled to the ground. Merlin observed the carnage from the shelter of his father's arms. Men wailed, flailing about with clothes aflame. Druids utilized spells to snuff them out and knights of Camelot patted out their comrades with blankets as quickly as they could. One tent was a fiery blaze and people crawled out of it.

Arthur had drifted to the ground, going to one knee to assess Nimueh. When she waved him off, he ran to Merlin. "Is he..."

"Spent, I think," Balinor reported.

Arthur didn't look injured by the inferno. Must be the bond. He couldn't hurt him, right?

Arthur gripped one of his arms with his bound hands and aided by Balinor on the other side, they hauled him to his feet. Merlin's ears buzzed, blood rushing, pulse pounding.

"Here." Arthur pulled him into a tent and Merlin found himself laid on a bedroll. Arthur touched his shoulder. "I'll be back."

And then they left him alone with the knowledge he'd become a monster.

* * *

When Arthur emerged from the tent he marched right into a shouting match. Nimueh had struggled upright, though she breathed harshly and pressed a hand into her side.

"They were yours!" She howled at Iseldir. "The king did nothing."

The wizened elder at Iseldir's side yelled back. "What about the warlock?"

"He's Emrys!" the high priestess scoffed. "Doesn't this prove so?" She flung her arms wide, encompassing the chaos around them. Men groaned and sobbed, one tent smoldered to ash, knights divested themselves of uncomfortably hot mail.

"And he has chosen the Pendragon!" the elder argued back. "We've seen how he controls the warlock! The boy will do anything for him."

"And might that mean the king is the Golden Prince?"

"And suppose he is? Does the prophecy promise peace won't come with a sword? The Pendragon expelling the forces of magic come against him? Didn't Bruta turn on Sigan? He will use the warlock for his purposes then turn on him, too."

"Iseldir!" A Druid dropped a man grotesquely burned on his right side in front of the leader.

"Alvarr." Iseldir's eyes briefly closed on his ash stained face, then he knelt down. "You shouldn't have done this."

Alvarr trembled—the pain from his wounds must be great—and spoke shakily. "I had to... The king...will kill us all... L-look at this... He accesses too much power... We'll die, Iseldir... All of us." He fell into the elder who embraced him, cradling his head against his shoulder.

"You're fools all," Nimueh chastised.

Arthur grit his teeth and worked to subdue his anger. Now was certainly not the time. He strode across to Iseldir. "We have wounded that need aid."

Iseldir looked up at him.

"Can you heal?"

Iseldir nodded. "Some of us possess healing skill."

"Will you use it?"

"We will do what we can."

"And this man?" He'd hate to make an issue of it, but if this was the one who had sanctioned the attack, he must be called to account.

"Hueil," Iseldir instructed. "Secure Alvarr and those that belong to him. Do not deny them healing."

The Druid who had produced the man nodded and took charge of the rogue, guiding him away.

"Tell me what I can do to help," Arthur insisted. "What do you need?"

Iseldir stared at him critically, then reached out to grasp his bound hands, whispering a spell. His binding slackened. "Come with me."

Arthur shook off the cord and followed the elder.

* * *

"We need to get back," Mordred insisted, agitated. They'd already spent too long out here. Cerdan had dragged him along to collect herbs they might need if the attack on Arthur went badly. Mordred flicked an insect off a bunch of comfrey he'd pulled. Contrary to common belief, few sorcerers could heal someone completely with word alone. Usually all they did was incite the patient to enter a healing process, and even then the body had to cooperate.

"A few more," Cerdan said, yanking up _another_ leafy plant.

"We have a bag full."

"A moment."

"What if they leave?"

"We'll know."

Mordred bent down next to Cerdan and pulled up three more plants, roots attached. Shaking off the dirt, he stuffed them in Cerdan's bag. "Enough?"

Cerdan looked at him with a side eye. "I suppose." He slowly stood. "Back then."

Mordred hurried ahead. Soon, Arthur Pendragon would receive his rightful judgment for the unforgivable pain and suffering he'd foisted on others. Mordred grinned from ear to ear until he reached the wagons and beheld men lying on the ground, moaning, while others leaned over them and chanted spells.

Shocked, his question came out unusually strained. "What happened?"

"F-fire..." A wounded man stammered. A deep red burn covered his arm, as if he'd accidentally tripped into a campfire.

The Druid above him—Gall, wasn't it?—stopped muttering a spell and looked dazedly at Mordred. The ends of his shoulder length locks were singed unevenly. "We were fighting. We'd almost killed him...and...then there was fire everywhere."

"You attacked them?" He whirled on Cerdan, seething. "You meant them to go without me!"

Cerdan ignored him. "Where's Alvarr?"

"Back there. Ari, too. Tauren..." He pointed at a man with eyes closed, the back of his head bald, hair burned away, though his chest rose and fell. "Put him to sleep."

Cerdan rushed to a wagon, retrieving a pack that would contain the medicines they'd had on hand when they started this venture. "Mordred, help."

Mordred had frozen, stiff jawed. They'd gone without him on purpose. Fools! He could have prevented this, unleashed his own devastating skill. The sick sight of the burned men turned his stomach. Did Camelot knights have no decency to destroy them with fire? Even with healing magic, they'd be scarred for life. "Monsters," Mordred bit out. "All of them."

"Probably only one." Mordred recognized the man who had risen to wobbly feet, though he hadn't come from the cave. Turi, an elder. A scar across the elder's forehead indicated a hastily healed wound. The rest of his face sported multiple bruises and he clutched his left arm close to his body. "Emrys."

Mordred started. "Emrys?"

"Said he was...and if he did this..." Confusion colored Turi's gaze.

"Who said?" Mordred hissed.

"Boy. Named Merlin. The one they've whispered about ever since we were told of him."

Merlin... "He's not Emrys," Mordred growled.

"I didn't think he was, but his power..."

"He's not Emrys!"

Cerdan jumped up from tending a man and grabbed his shoulder. "Mordred, calm down."

"No!" Mordred pushed his hand off, dashing up to Turi. "Arthur lives?"

"I don't kn..."

"We didn't kill him," Gall reported. "A woman stopped us and then...the fire."

Mordred backed away from Turi.

"Mordred, please help," Cerdan said. "Get some..."

But he turned and ran, ignoring Cerdan calling after him. Rage scorched through every vein and pore. Merlin... He spat on the ground. Emrys had revealed his true colors. He'd attack sorcerers just like him to save a murderer who would turn on him in the end. Arthur Pendragon was a liar, a destroyer, an enemy. He _must_ die.

Mordred ran until he couldn't anymore and collapsed next to a large oak. He paid no attention to the tears streaking his cheeks, throwing his head back to glimpse sky through the tree's branches. Once, long ago, he'd cherished a tender voice intoning a sweet lullaby. He could barely hear the song anymore. His mother had faded away the older he grew. It wasn't until he met Freya that he'd found another to care for and treasure him—then the Pendragon prince and his serving brat had taken her away. He'd almost despaired of ever feeling such love again, but then Morgana had escaped Camelot and he'd spent months at her side—and Arthur Pendragon had killed her. His lies and condemnation had driven her to despair until she'd chosen death to stop the pain.

Mordred's hand went to his belt, withdrawing a knife Alvarr had gifted him when he'd arrived at the cavern camp. "Use it well," the leader had advised.

Mordred pulled up onto his knees. He slid back the sleeve on his left arm and stared at his pale flesh. He sucked in a breath, grit his teeth, and began to carve.

The knife dug, turning and twisting, thin lines of blood welling to the surface. His stomach roiled, but he kept on. When it was done, he dropped the tool, placed his right hand over the marks and whispered, " _Cwalu aegper Arthur Pendragon. Paet gehat ic i behate_." His eyes glowed and he removed his hand to stare at the ugly rune blistered into his flesh.

"Mordred." Cerdan was suddenly next to him, gasping, and crouching down to grasp his arm. "Why did you do this?" The man shook him, obviously distressed he'd undertaken the death curse, the vow to kill or die.

Mordred's eyes gleamed. There was no turning back now.

* * *

Gwen paused in her pacing when Morgana let out another round of harsh pants and angrily dropped Taliesin's hands.

"It's not working!" her mistress and friend despaired.

Gwen approached the two who had been sitting across from each other for what felt like hours. Morgana had explained Taliesin was supposedly a man hundreds of years older than they, a seer from the time of Bruta. Gwen wanted to believe for Morgana's sake, but she glared at Taliesin as she knelt down, still unsure of his identity and motives. "She needs a break."

Taliesin shook his head. "This is too important."

"So is her health," Gwen shot back.

Morgana clasped her hand, squeezing it. "A drink."

Gwen nodded, nailed Taliesin with a furious eye, then walked to her pack to unlatch her water skin. When she returned, Taliesin had stood and moved off several paces. Morgana accepted the skin with her thanks and pulled several long swigs.

Gwen lowered her voice. "How do you know you can trust him?"

"He helped me get to you."

"But he could still be using you, just like..." Gwen bit her lip.

Morgana passed the skin back into her hands. "Morgause." Morgana sighed. "I shouldn't have listened so closely to her, but I don't think she meant to lie to me. She's been so hurt and... she was right about some things, too. Uther killed so many."

"Is that why you did whatever you did to him?"

Morgana closed her eyes, remembering her hands draining Uther of life. "I just reacted. I wasn't thinking."

"You can tell Arthur that."

Morgana's eyes snapped open. "I can't. He might believe I didn't help Morgause and he might accept my magic, but that I hurt Uther and weakened him enough to die?" Morgana straightened. "That's why I have to see this, Gwen. If Arthur is in danger, I have to see it and stop it, so I can show him..." She gasped sharply, fighting tears.

Gwen wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I understand. You have to do this. But be careful. Don't let him trick you."

"I'm careful." She looked to Taliesin and called out. "I'm ready."

Taliesin strode back over to them. "I may be pressing you too hard. Perhaps, if like with the girl," his eyes flicked to Gwen, "we let you direct the sight."

"Yes. Fine." Morgana held out her hands. Gwen backed off, watching as Taliesin knelt once more before her mistress, locking fingers with her. Gwen fervently wished she could see, too, help Morgana do what she needed to.

As before, the seers sat silent and still, except for the darting movements behind Morgana's eyelids that betrayed the intensity of her struggle. For several long moments, there was no sound or movement until Taliesin crowed triumphantly and Morgana sucked in a hollow breath. She paled, color draining. Gwen rushed to her side.

"Let go of her!" She hacked at their joined hands until they broke apart. Taliesin opened shining eyes and grinned. Morgana's eyelids lifted and she squeezed a hand to her abdomen, trembling all over.

"Ar...Arthur..."

"See?" Taliesin gloated. "He dies as I have seen. There can be no completed bond if the warlock will kill him."

"I'm not a liar," Gwen grumbled at the seer.

"Perhaps not intentionally."

Morgana gripped Gwen's arm and pushed to her feet. Gwen guided her upwards. "It's not the warlock."

Taliesin stood as well, brow creasing. "Of course it's the warlock. You heard as well as I. Break the bond. That's what he said." He sighed loudly. "Let me guess? You know nothing of bonding. A warlock can break any bond before it is completed. He simply kills the one calling to his soul. This must be the warlock's aim."

Morgana scowled. " _You_ know nothing. Merlin won't try to kill Arthur. It's not him."

Gwen tightened her hold on Morgana's arm. "Who?"

Morgana shook her head sorrowfully. "It's Mordred."

* * *

Arthur stood up from beside the last of his knights to be tended. Fortunately, most of the sustained injuries had been superficial, as if the wounded had drawn close enough to a fire to get singed but not enough to fall in. A few, though, even after Druids employed magical healing, nursed swollen and festering burns. These they treated with medicines on hand and the Druid elders helped induce a calm that enabled them to sleep.

Arthur contemplated the tent he'd sequestered Merlin in. He'd have to talk to the youth but didn't relish the thought. He knew Merlin too well―he'd be flagellating himself over this. Arthur grimly set his mouth in a line, supposing he would be, too, if he'd just used such an enormous amount of power against an entire crowd of people.

He'd started towards the tent when two men who had hidden themselves quickly enough to remain unscathed accosted him.

"The boy is a sorcerer!"

Arthur reluctantly focused on Lord Arnott. He'd hoped they might have missed Merlin's revelation in all the chaos. No such luck. "He is." The simple reply was laced with challenge and Arnott wisely didn't reply. Instead, Jost took up the subject.

"How long have you known, my lord?" His words were so cautious and careful, yet heavy with suspicion.

"I only learned recently."

"And you didn't inform us?"

Arthur guffawed. "Inform you? So the council could demand I send him to the pyre?"

"He's been near you," Arnott recovered his voice, eyes circling in realization. "All this time. Manipulating your mind. Sire―"

"And this," Arthur flicked a hand at Arnott. "I knew such an accusation, unfounded as it is, would be leveled to justify your demands."

"It would be wise to consider the possibility―" Jost began.

"No," Arthur snapped. "There is no possibility. Merlin has been nothing but loyally devoted. His only concern has been me these last four years, and I'll be hanged before I let you spread any rumor claiming otherwise."

"B-but, sire, you saw..." Arnott threw his arms out at the scorched camp.

"He was protecting me."

"By targeting everyone?" Jost said quietly.

Arthur sighed. "He's recently accessed more power and he finds it hard to control."

"He cannot come back to Camelot," Arnott blurted.

Arthur stepped up to Arnott, employing his full height and meeting the man eye to eye. "He will return. The ban is to be lifted. Merlin will never leave my service."

"But you will leave us." Iseldir had appeared at his other side.

Arthur spun on his heel. All this travel and discussion and carnage for nothing? He wouldn't be forced away without some kind of reconciliation. "I still want to parley with you."

"After they attacked us?" Arnott intruded, forgoing any habits he might have developed when Uther was king to keep silent until your king handled an enemy first.

Iseldir bristled. "They did so because Camelot murdered their kith and kin."

"Excuses," Arnott spat. "Will you punish the aggressors?"

Iseldir folded his arms calmly, but his eyes blazed. "We will judge them according to our own ways."

"Arrest them, my lord," Arnott growled. "They flaunt your authority."

"And don't you?" Arthur shot back, sweaty, tired, and completely out of patience.

Arnott looked aghast.

"Every thing I say is challenged. You don't trust me; they don't trust me. All of you see only what you want to see. You think I mean to allow the destruction of my kingdom? I want only what is good for Camelot, for every man, woman, and child within my borders, and that means making peace with _all_ of my subjects, not only those you deem acceptable. What will we do? Crush the Druids under our thumbs? We attack them, they attack us, so we attack them again? What have they done but exist? What is wrong with that? Tell me!"

Arnott blinked owlishly and didn't reply, but Arthur had moved on to Iseldir anyway.

"Yes, I led a raid. I wish to all the holy I could take that back, return to the past, stand up in council, speak out, say _something_ to my father to change how you've been treated, but I can't. How do I wash away the blood on my hands? What can I do? Do you want me to die, kneel before you and bare my neck so you can take my life? Just say so, and I'll get to it!"

Iseldir's surprise echoed Arnott's for a second, but his features schooled much quicker than the councilor's. "We won't require that." His face fell into a sorrow even more pronounced than Arthur had beheld at the parley. "But this attack against you is evidence we are not ready. Your coming to us is tearing my people apart. You must leave and not return."

"So we make another king our enemy?" Aglain had joined the bunch and Iseldir sighed loudly.

"Aglain, this is not the right time."

"When is it right?" the elder challenged. "There is never a perfect time. You want to wait until we all agree on this man? We never will. He offers us true freedom, Iseldir, not just the lifting of the the ban, but a way forward. His support is a godsend. With him on our side, we won't be hunted any longer, despised, shunned from town and land. We _need_ him to legitimize us."

Iseldir's eyes hardened. "We have never needed a king of Camelot to prove our worth and we don't need one now." He looked to Arthur. "You will leave within the hour." The leader whirled away, striding to a group of Druids guarded by their own.

"I suppose this means we have no choice, my lord," Lord Jost concluded, the hint of disappointment in his tone surprising Arthur. "Let's go pack, Arnott." He clasped his fellow elder's elbow, silencing whatever the blowhard was about to say next and pulling him away.

Arthur stared after Iseldir, heart pounding, feeling sick. He'd ruined it. He should have been composed, negotiated instead of subjecting the leader to a lecture. How arrogant he must appear to call to account a people that had been so ill treated!

A gentle hand encircled his upper arm, Aglain gazing on him with compassion. Arthur swallowed his grief. "Thank you for trying, but I've done too much to be trusted."

"You have been noble and brave and exactly what I desire in a king."

Arthur blinked against glazing eyes, his emotion slipping from his control.

"And I will not let you go so easily."

Arthur shook his head. "Don't tear your people further apart over me."

"For us all, but I don't intend to tear us apart. I intend them to see the truth."

"I don't think it's possible to convince them."

"There is a way, my lord. But it is not easy, and I fear when I have explained it to you, you will choose to ride away from us anyway."

* * *

A tent flap rustled as Arthur slipped into shade and carefully lowered himself across from the boy he'd come to love as a brother. Merlin didn't acknowledge him. Arthur reached out to push back the damp fringe draping the boy's sight, exposing blue eyes focused on the top of the tent. _I shouldn't have brought him._ Merlin was his responsibility. He should have bargained with the Druids, insisted Merlin wouldn't join them until first contact had been established.

Merlin spoke shortly, still not looking at him. "I wanted to save you."

"I know. And you did."

"How many are dead?"

Arthur shifted his hand to rest on Merlin's crown. "No one."

"But hurt?"

Arthur dreaded his answer. "There are wounds, but most are superficial."

"Who's hurt badly?"

"If the point of these questions is to help you punish yourself even more, I'm not going to answer them."

Merlin's jaw clenched. The tent whooshed with wind as a double heartbeat thumped in Arthur's chest. He moved his grip to Merlin's shoulder. "Calm down." The heartbeat disappeared and Merlin closed his eyes. Arthur saw tears on the boy's eyelashes. "Look, the Druids want me to leave and..."

Merlin shot up, panic on his features. "No! I need them. Nimueh can't make it safe to access my magic."

"I was thinking, we could ask them to help you and you can st..."

"Arthur!" The boy gripped his arms, clinging on in desperation. "Don't leave me! I need you!"

Arthur could hardly swallow the lump in his throat. He leaned closer and spoke hoarsely. "When my father gave me charge over you, I vowed to do all I could to guide and support you. I'm not leaving you, and you will get the help you need."

Merlin's grip relaxed, but his chin trembled. "I...I'm..."

"What, Merlin?"

"Wicked. I used my magic to hurt innocent people."

"That's ridiculous, and you know it. You've only ever meant to use your magic rightly."

"But...the fire...the wounds..."

"And what did I do? I murdered Druids. People who took you in and cared for you. What about that? If anyone's wicked, let's put the blame where it rightly belongs."

"You're not, Arthur. You're not."

"Then you aren't either."

Merlin made to bow his head, but Arthur grabbed his shoulders, halting the movement so the youth stared him in the eyes. "You have a pure heart. Mine? Let's hope it's at least a fraction as good as yours." He released him and stood. "Rest. I command you to forgive yourself for something you couldn't even control."

Arthur exited the tent, stalking his way to Aglain who hadn't left after offering him a last resort and remaining behind to await an answer. The Druid rose from the log he'd made his seat. "How fares Emrys?"

"I'll do it," Arthur stated, ignoring the question. "Tell the elders I formally demand the _Teine Diaga_."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** If you're a Merlin fan, I hope you recognize the _Teine Diaga_! I'm planning on two more chapters until the end of Year 4. Next chapter is the crux of the year and will result in a permanent change for many of our characters.


	93. Teine Diaga

"Arthur?" Lancelot called quietly, reluctant to disturb his friend and king. Ever since Arthur had spoken to Merlin, he'd kept to himself, only emerging from his tent once to check on his men and the status of their various wounds. Lancelot was unscathed. He'd managed to shelter behind a tree when the fire jutted into the air, dragging the Druid he'd been battling with him. For a moment their wide, scared eyes had met, then all animosity was forgotten at the cries of their disparate comrades in pain. They'd lent their aid to the injured.

An amber sun brushed the horizon, jets of light piercing the surrounding woods and framing Arthur's figure leaning one shoulder against a tree, back to Lancelot's approach. The knight paused, struck by the sight of the radiance pooling around the king and illuminating his golden hair as if he wore a sunlit crown. Years ago, when Arthur had rescued him from drowning and he had declared his loyalty, they'd become fast friends and he'd yearned for a future fighting together to protect Camelot.

Over the years, his childish dreams waned. He didn't crave war and battle; he wanted peace and prosperity. Uther had seemed to give it to them for a time and he was content...until Merlin and Morgana and his time with the Druids. The peace he'd thought achieved wasn't extended to all, so many hunted and haunted. He'd prayed for Arthur to _see_ and when he finally had, so much had gone wrong. Staring at him now, Lancelot had the disturbing impression of a ruler already worn down, far more older than his years and a martyr for his cause.

"What is it?"

Lancelot shook his head, coming out of his reverie. He stepped parallel to his king, destroying the momentary illusion. "A meal has been prepared."

"How are the men?"

"Resting well."

Arthur dipped his head into one hand. "Merlin didn't mean to."

"I don't think they even suspect. They didn't see the cause of the inferno."

"They'll have to be told."

"Maybe not now."

"No. Not now. Not yet." The words were a burden. Arthur turned back to the sunset. "What do you most fear?"

Lancelot's heart sank. "You've done good here, Arthur. Even if things haven't gone as we wanted, it's a beginning. If you..."

Arthur waved an impatient hand. "Answer the question."

"I fear as you that we won't return to Camelot with a reconciliation. We've come so far."

"I'm not asking how you feel about the parley." Arthur nailed him with a piercing gaze. "What do _you_ most fear?"

Lancelot frowned. Over the years, he'd beheld Arthur in moments of contemplation, often edged with frustration and anger. This was different and a bit unnerving, an Arthur teetering on the edge of...terror?

"Inside your heart. What fear is there?"

The intensity of Arthur's stare didn't seem to dim even as the sun set. "If you doubt me―"

"Lancelot!" Arthur almost shouted. "I don't doubt you! I'm asking you to tell me honestly what's there."

Lancelot swallowed hard, his mind splintering in several directions but reassembling just as quickly. "Losing Morgana."

"Losing your love. I should have expected that."

"If this is about me not telling you about her magic, I'm still sorry I..."

"I can't fault you for love. Your feelings for her don't upset me. You can show your sorrow. I can't." Arthur wiped a hand over his face and blinked rapidly. Lancelot noted his hand shaking.

"What's going on, Arthur?"

Arthur dropped his hand and smiled weakly. "I'm wishing my fears were as chivalrous. I'm not even sure what I fear most. What if there's fear so deep, I don't even know it's there?"

"We still trust you. No matter the outcome here."

"I need it. I've vowed to do something that won't make sense to..." He unexpectedly let out a breathy laugh. "Most everyone."

"We're behind you, whatever you do."

"Go assemble Lord Jost, Lord Arnott, and Sir Lucan to wait for me at my tent. Nimueh as well. And you join them." The tone had become authoritarian, devoid of emotion. "Quickly. There isn't much time."

* * *

Balinor rose from feeding a knight whose hands had been burnt. The man had slipped into a peaceful rest with a little help from an herbal powder sprinkled on his meal. The king had given his permission for such application for the worst off.

Balinor moved back to the fire to set down the dirtied food bowl and looked to his son's tent just out of reach of the flickering flames. He'd spoken to him, tried to be supportive, but all Merlin had done was mumble, "Arthur already talked to me," and gone silent. He'd left Merlin's tent determined to put himself to good use somehow since he certainly hadn't managed to be much good as a father.

"Balinor, I must speak with you."

Balinor turned to behold the man who had been more a father than he ever had. A friend, a brother, a responsible caretaker. He squashed a flash of jealousy to answer steadily. "Of course."

Arthur walked away and Balinor followed him several paces to a secluded shadow. The young man fixed him with a hard set expression. "I need you to incapacitate Merlin."

Balinor balked. "Are those lords demanding this? He didn't mean to do this. He wasn't trying to hurt anyone. You know that!"

"It's for his good, not..."

Balinor raised a hand. "You won't go near him."

Arthur held up both hands palms outward. "You misunderstand. I shouldn't have started that way. I'm not thinking." His Adam's apple bobbed nervously.

"What is it?" Balinor asked warily.

"I'm going to do something Merlin can't be involved in. He'll want to help me and he can't. Even if he could, he can't cause more harm like he did today. I'm asking you to do this for his sake as well as everyone else's." The words were so so serious, distressed...scared, even.

"What are you going to do?"

"Swear to me on all you hold dear the words I speak to you now will never cross your lips." The tone was so close to begging, so beyond what Balinor ever thought he'd hear in the tone of a Pendragon, he answered without question.

"I swear I won't reveal what you tell me."

"I've demanded the _Teine Diaga_ from the Druid elders."

Balinor stared unblinking, his heart stuttered, and he whispered. "You don't know what you're doing."

"I understand."

Balinor shook his head. "Men and women have been undone by it. It's a last desperate act."

"Yes," Arthur whispered.

"They'll see everything. You won't be able to hide from them."

"I'm aware."

Balinor's own soul quaked at the thought of striping himself bare in front of anyone. Not even to Hunith would he reveal every weakness that coursed through his heart.

"They want us to leave. We can't. It's not just the parley, it's Merlin. He needs their help." Arthur rubbed at his chin. "And it's time I did something that proved I mean what I say. My words alone will never persuade anyone. I did too much damage to do this any other way." Arthur huffed a sad laugh. "Not even you really trust me. You thought I meant to punish Merlin for what he did."

Balinor swallowed hard. He hadn't meant to distrust. It was just that Arthur was his father's son and Uther turned on them and... Hypocrisy. He had just been thinking of how good Arthur had been to his boy and then so easily turned on the man. "You're right. Forgive me."

"I hadn't even held it against you. You understand why I need you to keep Merlin here?"

Balinor nodded.

"Can your herbs put him to sleep? Or your magic?"

"The last time he sampled that powder," Balinor cleared his throat, loathing to bring up his actions the first time they met, "when I tainted your stew, his magic fought it. He was weakened, but he didn't fall unconscious. I could use more of it, perhaps, and add some magical inducement."

"Do so. I'll be at my tent. Let me know when he is safely asleep." Arthur turned to walk away.

A thought occurred to Balinor. "Who mentioned the ritual to you?"

Arthur paused. "Aglain. He wants peace."

"You killed his brother."

"I...what?"

"I assume in the raid you led. When we stayed behind, he argued for your acceptance. They said his brother had been killed and he still wanted you accepted."

"Why would he..." Arthur's words faded.

"Perhaps he is as desperate as you. Be careful."

* * *

A whirlpool of churning wind lashed at dense forest and cast out three forms, two holding each other tightly.

"Are you all right?" Morgana inquired.

"Y-yes. F-fine." Gwen's muscles continued to jerk, so Morgana didn't lessen her embrace. She recalled how disoriented she'd been when Morgause first subjected her to the whirlwind spell.

Taliesin groaned, pulling himself up from a sprawl. "I said we shouldn't do it again." He clutched at his side. "I might have broken something."

"Where are the stones?" Morgana demanded, whipping her head this way and that.

"Didn't get there. This is too dangerous. We won't do it again."

"What do you mean we didn't get there?"

Taliesin threw a hand out in front of him. "Barrier. Magical shield."

Morgana eased Gwen to the ground to inspect the area in front of the seer. She could feel a tingling pulse. She tried to take a step but the toe of her boot thunked as if she kicked solid wall. "Why is this here?"

Taliesin struggled to his feet. "To keep someone out," he said, his tone indicating the obviousness of the answer and the foolishness of the question.

"Us?"

"No one could be aware we were coming."

Morgana moved to her right, hand out to sense the pulse. The shield curved. "Where are the stones?"

"To the north. That way." Right through the barrier. "It's not surprising. The Druids have always been so overly conscious about guarding their sacred ways."

Morgana glared at the barrier. They hadn't been able to see much more in Taliesin's vision than the "Stones of Nemeton" as the seer called them. A holy place for the Druids. If Arthur had gone to parley with them, Taliesin agreed it was a logical choice for the meeting. The Druids believed spiritual power imbued the stones and would consider it a safe place to parley with a possible enemy.

"There could be a weakness. A shield must be maintained. We might even find a Druid we can convince to let us in."

Morgana went back to Gwen, helping her stand with the aid of her hand. Morgana noted her fretful eyes and stroked her hair. "We'll find him, Gwen. We won't let Mordred harm him."

* * *

Time was a neverending cycle, always flowing. People lived, worked, aged, died, then other people did it all over again. Individual events, their most revered spiritual leaders claimed, didn't matter in the grand scheme of history, just that the world kept moving to the divine rhythms. _Hogwash_.

Six shadows appeared just beyond the reach of the glowing orb in Aglain's hand. Two broke from the group and headed for him. He straightened. He was risking so much for the new king of Camelot. He'd already tarnished his influence when he'd befriended a knight of Camelot searching for those who could aid his beloved. Aglain had been the only elder to take a chance, and in so doing, discovered a heart of pure nobility he hadn't expected.

It was Lancelot who had restored his hope that things could be different. Then through Morgana he had learned growing up in Uther's household didn't mean everyone attached to the king shared his ideals. And finally, Arthur Pendragon, the very heir, had declared his desire for reconciliation and a better way forward. The elders couldn't fully understand why he put so much faith in the man, dismissing his arguments for accepting the king. Soon they would see and know what he had come to believe―that Arthur Pendragon was so much more than they had always assumed.

Lancelot nodded to Aglain when they stopped in front of him. Aglain nodded back, but his eyes were on the troubled expression of the king at his side. "You've changed your mind?"

Arthur spoke hesitantly. "I'm not sure."

Panic surged. So many sacrifices. It couldn't come to naught now. He wrestled his emotions into a calm veneer. "Seeing your very heart _will_ make a difference."

"My fear, rather."

"Your vulnerability. They'll see _you_ , a man like them, who has made mistakes but wants for so much more."

"What if I'm not what you think I am?"

"I believe you are."

"I killed your brother."

Aglain's heart skipped a beat. How had he... Oh. Yes. That had been brought up in the presence of the dragonlord and the boy claiming to be Emrys. "Yes," he barely whispered.

"The raid?"

Aglain swallowed the aching lump threatening to strangle his windpipe. "He was their leader."

The king's eyes widened and then shined with guilt.

"You...remember him?"

Arthur Pendragon pinched his lips together, an emotional struggle clear in his expression. Lancelot put a hand on his king's arm and glared accusingly at Aglain. "Why did you tell him?"

"I didn't."

Arthur's shock raked his knight. "You knew and didn't say."

"I promised I wouldn't."

Aglain spoke quickly. "It's true. I made Lancelot vow to me to remove an obstacle to your trust."

"And you thought you should tell him _now_?" Lancelot pressed.

Agalin sighed. "I didn't tell him." He looked at Arthur. "Who told you?"

"Balinor... And I do remember him. He knelt first. They followed..."

"Did your hand take his life?"

"I don't think so." The king's jaw locked. "Is this ritual your revenge?"

Aglain was taken aback at the thought he meant to use the _Teine Diaga_ to exact judgment. "No. No. Never. I have had time to...consider why my brother died..."

Arthur angrily punched a fist to his breast. "Because I listened to my father and never questioned. All I cared about was making him proud so I went where he pointed...did what he wanted..."

Aglain smiled softly. "And that is why I trust you, my lord and king. You come to us humbly admitting your sins. You are no longer the man who cut us down."

"But your brother..."

Aglain pointed to the stars peeping through the forest canopy. "What are we? Insignificant pieces in a game moved about for the pleasure of fate? Or threads in a weaving's design? Is each man's step a happenstance joke, or does his journey entwine with others in an unseen pattern?"

The king stared, perhaps taken aback. Aglain lowered his hand. "I used to be what you would call a scholar in the religion of my people. And I have come to believe there is a reason for all that has come and gone. The raid that took my brother was a step towards this moment, when you would bear your soul and change the destiny of my people. No, I haven't tricked you. I've placed my faith in your redemption." He nodded at Lancelot. "Though I haven't done so entirely blind."

The king didn't answer for a moment and his voice was hoarse when he spoke. "I pray your faith is well placed."

"It is, my king. It is."

* * *

Mordred braced himself in front of the shield, concentrating on the pulse of energy tickling his palm and identifying a thin seam. He couldn't see the Druids maintaining the shield; they'd be evenly spaced at intervals around the perimeter, but not here where the magic of two overlapped. This would be the easiest spot to disrupt the flow. No doubt they'd sense the breakage, but any investigation would come too late to stop him.

Mordred stewed. Cerdan had lectured him over the stupidity of tempting the spirits to swallow his life if he failed to carry out his vow. "You can't wash off that mark!" the man had yelled. Mordred had stomped away. He didn't _want_ to wash it away. Too long had his people cowered in the dirt like unwanted dogs, letting circumstance kick them in the face until they lost everything that mattered. _Someone_ had to save them. Someone had to destroy the boots crushing their necks once and for all.

Mordred set his mouth in a hard line. Cerdan had tried to keep an eye on him, but the tumult of caring for wounded had divided his attention and it had been easy to slip away. The kind man would be angry, but his wrath wouldn't last long once he realized Mordred had achieved the outcome they'd all desired. Really, he'd been so foolish not to have embraced the truth of his purpose all along. If he had, the elders wouldn't have wasted their time on claims of a false savior.

Mordred opened his mouth. This was the moment Pendragon rule came to end.

Someone gasped just as Mordred had filled his lungs to the brim with air. He startled, whooshing out a breath and looking to his left. He froze, his body stiffening like water turned ice in the dead of winter.

"Mordred."

"Y-you...come to me..." he stammered. An apparition stood several meters from him, yet not ethereal as he'd always imagined them to be. She seemed as if alive, dark of hair, red of lips, green of eye, every bit of her intact. The spirits, they approved of his vow, sent one of their own to infuse him with courage, _her_ courage. He stammered. "I do this for you... Bind with me spirit. Find your retribution in me."

The ghost frowned. "Mordred, how did you get here?" She waved away her question with her own hand. "It doesn't matter. I've seen something. I think you mean to harm Arthur and you can't."

Even in death, Arthur Pendragon owned her? Movement caught his eye, two other figures behind the ghost, the maid, Gwen, and a grey-haired man. He refocused on Morgana, scrutinizing her and observing now the tears in her dress, her dirtied brow, a glistening of sweat. "You're...real?"

Morgana smiled. "Of course I am. Mordred, listen..."

He rushed her, throwing his arms around her and squeezing his eyes shut, ecstasy flooding through every pore. She wrapped her arms around him, and he basked in the warmth of living flesh. After a time, she spoke softly. "What are you doing here?"

He opened his eyes to meet her glorious green gaze. "I thought you died."

She looked surprised, then pained. "Oh, Mordred. I didn't mean to you to think... I'm sorry. I found Taliesin and..." She squeezed him tightly. "I thought I would die, but I didn't. I understand so much now. Morgause, she's been wrong. Arthur has changed. He's going to make peace with the Druids and lift the ban on magic."

Mordred pushed out of her arms, crinkling his brow. "You know?"

"Gwen told me. Sorcerers will be free."

"You think Arthur Pendragon wants us _free_?"

"Yes." Her hands grasped his shoulders and she bent to look him in the eye. "You won't have to hide anymore. And I have a chance to go home."

Mordred retreated several paces. "To Camelot? To his rule? His power?"

"Mordred..."

"He still has you," he realized. "You still believe him."

"Mor―"

"You're just as deluded as the elders! Well, I'm not!" He brandished his arm, showing off the scarred rune. "He makes everyone think he tells the truth and then turns on them. He's using you and Emrys. I have to save you, too."

He turned to the shield. Her hand reached out for him, but he screamed loud and long. She cried out, and those with her. He stepped through the seam, shoved apart like a gaping wound in response to his scream. He closed his mouth and whirled around as the seam sealed once more. She knelt on the ground, hands over her ears, mouth twisted in pain.

"I'm sorry, Morgana." A tear escaped the corner of his eye. "You'll thank me. You will. I know it."

And he ran.

* * *

Merlin shifted when the tent flap rustled. His father had appeared holding a bowl. "I have a meal for you." He approached and knelt down next to him.

Merlin turned away on his side and curled into himself. "I'm not hungry."

His father's hand rested on his back. "It's been hours since you last ate."

"I can't," Merlin mumbled. His stomach was a rock, firm and tight and weighing heavily in his gut.

"You only meant to use your magic for good intention."

"That makes it better?"

"Yes."

"Where's Arthur?"

"Attending to something."

"Wounded."

"Merlin, eat."

He was forcefully rolled over and the bowl set on his chest. A spicy scent wafted over him and his stomach rumbled. Maybe he could manage just one bite so his father would leave him alone. He sat up and gingerly retrieved a piece of meat. The exotic flavor sparked along his tongue. His father must have brought along some of his unique herbs.

"I'm sorry."

Merlin frowned as he chewed and spoke through the food in his mouth. "For what?"

"I could have made your way easier if I stayed in Ealdor. Guided you. Don't blame yourself. Blame my fear and bitterness that kept me away from you."

Merlin swallowed. "I was thinking...Arthur led that raid and he feels so bad and...he can't make up for it, but he's different now. I think, maybe the past...we can't hold onto it forever? You did what you thought you had to, right?"

"It doesn't change things, though."

"No," Merlin agreed quietly, picking up more meat between his long fingers. "But..." He blinked back tears. "I've forgiven you and Arthur, but... I can't forgive myself. I tried..." He broke off, chewing vigorously and turned his gaze on the yellow haze of the lantern set within his tent.

Balinor nodded thoughtfully. "Don't feel bad. You've inherited my own failing." He laughed softly. "There are some regrets maybe we can't forgive ourselves for, but we have to learn to live with them."

"I need help," Merlin said vehemently. "Can you talk to the Druids? Tell them this is all my fault and they should listen to Arthur."

"Arthur has been granted another hearing."

Merlin's stomach flipped. "He has?"

"Yes. Now, finish eating and rest."

"But I should go with him." Merlin started to rise. "I can tell them what happened and I'm sorry."

Balinor pulled him back down by his sleeve. "He's capable of speaking for you both."

"But..."

"This is _his_ battle, Merlin. Let him fight it on his own as he wishes to. He asked me to see you rest. That's what he wants for you."

Merlin slumped down, continuing to eat from the bowl of meat, surprised at the extent of his appetite now awakened. Fine. He'd finish this and then go see Arthur and find some way to make amends for what he'd done.

* * *

Arthur paused at the edge of the clearing, staring at the arched stones in the distance now surrounded by tall flickering torches pierced into the ground.

"Are you still sure about this?" Lancelot asked at his shoulder.

"Yes." He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. "You and Sir Lucan must make sure Jost and Arnott don't say something stupid."

Lancelot smiled with half his mouth and nodded. Arthur hadn't revealed to any of them exactly what he meant to do, explaining only that he'd been granted an opportunity to reopen the parley. He explicitly ordered that when they arrived at the stones they were to keep their peace and not interfere, no matter what happened. There was some argument over that, but eventually he earned a verbal promise from all but Nimueh, who only grunted.

Arthur proceeded to follow after Aglain. When they reached the stones, the elders stood to one side in a tight ball, most of them scowling, though he noted Iseldir's placid expression revealed not a hint to his inner thoughts. Aglain stopped in front of them.

"You see he has come."

"Is he ready?" Iseldir asked.

Aglain looked to Arthur who nodded. "I am."

"Proceed."

"Tell your men to stay outside the stones," Aglain directed him. "Only Nimueh can come in."

Arthur peered at the men over his shoulder, at his two counselors, wary and confused, Sir Lucan with his hand on his sword's hilt, and Nimueh, who back in his tent had demanded to know what was going on, then swallowed her pride when he'd told her to shut it―in nicer words, of course.

"Lancelot, keep them all here." He raised his voice. "Nimueh." The high priestess narrowed her eyes but followed Arthur as he entered the circle of stones.

Aglain guided them to the center. Two thick wooden poles had been erected, the space between them about the width of a broad-shouldered man. Rings had been driven into the poles near the top and bottom and individual ropes secured to them. "You'll have to be restrained, but only for your safety during the ritual."

"Ritual?" Nimueh whirled on Arthur. "The _Teine Diaga_! Who makes you do this?"

Arthur wrenched his gaze from the poles and tried to ignore the wild thumping in his chest. The last time he'd been tied to something, his back had been shredded. "I requested it."

"Do you know what it does?"

"It reveals my fear."

"It _torments_ you with fear," Nimueh hissed. Her ire targeted Aglain. "Did you tell him to do this?"

"They won't believe him until they see his heart stripped bare."

"You mean to control him."

"No," Aglain snapped, losing patience. "We use the _Teine Diaga_ as it was intended. Your high priestesses corrupted it. _We_ don't bend people to our will. The ritual is only undertaken when it is asked for. Many accused have been found innocent through it. And this man will be seen as he really is. Look at the elders. They already fear an outcome in his favor."

Arthur looked back at the elders' angry glares.

"You shame them," Aglain explained. "None of them have ever undergone what you will face. They don't have the courage, and they are afraid to discover the man they have hated may be better than they have been."

Arthur met Aglain's eyes. Confidence surged through Arthur in response to the man's unwavering trust, especially in light of his personal crime against him. "What if I fail?"

Aglain took his elbow and directed him between the poles. "You will fail. That's the point. They will see your weakness, but in that weakness lies your strength."

Arthur considered the ropes tied to the poles. Once he would have scoffed at the idea it was possible to see inside the heart of a man, but after the crystal cave and his bonding with Merlin, he believed with absolute certainty this ritual would do exactly what Aglain expected it to.

"I choose to do this," he declared, extending his arms so Aglain could tie him. It was time to put lies and cover ups and pretense behind him. He would let them see who he really was and not cower away from the truth. For his people. For Merlin. For the Druids. For himself.

"I asked you here," Arthur spoke softly to Nimueh while Aglain began to tie one of his wrists, "to see who I am, too. And because Aglain said you'd sense the ritual anyway."

"You trust him so easily," Nimueh whispered, eyes on Aglain.

"I've trust you as well. Doesn't that mean something?"

Nimueh's surprise was almost comical until her features fell into her characteristic scowl once more. "Such a thing says a great deal, Pendragon. I will watch. Are you aware Emrys will sense this ritual as well?"

"Balinor has put him to sleep."

Nimueh raised an eyebrow. "You've thought of everything, then. I think you do this for him as well."

"He needs their help."

"I wish your father could see this. A Pendragon, humble and vulnerable amongst his enemies. I think I _am_ glad I didn't kill you―either time."

Arthur huffed a laugh. It was a nice respite from his churning insides. Nimueh left the circle.

Aglain moved on to his ankles. The bindings weren't taut. There was enough leeway for movement. "This will prevent you from hurting yourself," Aglain explained. "What you see may be intense. You might move about without intention."

Arthur nodded and swallowed thickly. Aglain stood, nodded back, and exited the circle, standing across from him and viewing him through the center of a stone arch. The elders followed Aglain's lead, taking up positions outside the other arches. Arthur now perceived a root of some kind hanging from each arch, roped like he was, though dangling freely from the center of the horizontal bar. The Druids began to chant in a language he couldn't understand but associated with magic. Daggers appeared. Arthur held his breath, but no one attacked him. Instead, they slashed at the roots. The stone arches flashed a brilliant white. Arthur went blind.

* * *

Merlin hadn't made it outside his tent. He'd felt incredibly tired after finishing the meal his father had brought him and laid back once more. He'd hardly heard his father whisper, "Sleep well," and hadn't mustered enough energy to question the worried look crossing Balinor's features.

For a time, he'd fallen into peaceful rest. Then dreams stirred, echoes of a great power within clawing to escape and a desperate fight to keep it caged. The nightmares remained elusive, more sensations than anything visual, until a chorus of shrill screams cracked through Merlin's skull, trailing a brilliant light, and he found himself in a very real place, a place he'd been before―the dungeon of Camelot.

* * *

For a brief second, Arthur thought Aglain had lied to him, that a swift magical punishment had thrust him into the blinding white beyond the veil. But the very next second, his sight resolved. The circle of arches had disappeared. Instead he occupied a dank stone walled room lit by ensconced torches. He recognized the cell; he'd been flogged here.

"You failed me."

Arthur twirled around, a storm kicking up inside his chest. A man he'd once hungered to please in every way stood across from him in front of the cell door. "Father?"

Uther glowered at him, arms crossed over his broad frame, imposing form standing tall, a crown of authority planted firmly on his head. "I always feared what you'd become, and you prove me right after all."

Arthur peered around the room, confused. Why was he here? And wasn't his father...dead?

"You ruin my kingdom. Your mother's life taken in exchange for a son that should have died at birth."

The words cut Arthur to the quick, making him slow to respond. " _You_ employed magic, so I would be conceived."

Uther snorted. "Weakness. I should never have sought an heir. Look what stands before me! A pathetic child trampling on tradition, unable to stand up for himself."

Arthur managed several steps towards his father. "I only ever wanted to please you, to be seen..."

"Please me?" Uther laughed scornfully. "You? A boy who parleys with Druids, bonds with sorcerers, lusts after a servant girl? Who makes common men knights?" Uther stepped threateningly towards him and Arthur backed away. "You can never please me. You spit on my grave!"

"I've learned a better way," Arthur pleaded. "We don't have to live in turmoil, kill innocent people..."

"Innocent? They murdered your mother."

"That's a lie!"

"They murdered so many. How can a whelp that wasn't there understand?"

"You sent me on a raid to break children...women...men who had done nothing."

"Magic is darkness and evil and you will let it in to destroy everything I built."

"You're wrong! It will make Camelot stronger."

"How can your kingdom be strong without a king to fear?" Uther scoffed.

Arthur firmed his jaw and lifted his chin. "I don't want my people to follow me out of fear."

"Then they will not respect you at all. You disgust me." Uther uncrossed his arms. "Go on. Love your sorcerers. Bathe yourself in their tears. Make them your bedfellows. And pay the price."

Uther raised his right hand. Arthur's stomach plummeted. Not this. Not again.

Hands seized him, turning him round and shoving him into the wall behind him, guards who hadn't been there a moment ago suddenly present, yanking his hands above his head to chain him in shackles. He craned his neck to peer over his shoulder at his father and the whip he brandished with his own hand.

"Father! I haven't meant to dishonor you or hurt you or..."

"Redeem yourself. Ask my mercy. Come back to my side."

"Listen to me..."

"No more!" Uther snapped the whip in the air and Arthur cringed. "Who do you choose? Me or your beloved sorcerers? Choose... _Choose!_ "

Arthur wrapped his fingers around the chains connected to the shackles. He turned his face away and pressed his forehead into the stone wall. "Them."

"What did you say?"

He spoke louder. "I choose them." He clenched his teeth as the first lash ripped into his back.

* * *

Merlin attacked Uther. He rushed the former king, pummeling fists into the man's chest...and met empty air. He stumbled, righted himself, and dove into the man's back only to hit the stone floor. Horrified, he stared on an emotionless face and a hand rhythmically swinging a brutal weapon, its lashes multiple tails with barbed ends. Arthur screamed behind him.

* * *

The dungeon winked out of existence, but the burning stripes of pain lingered. Arthur gazed dazedly at the arch across from him. A glowing blue haze filled its interior, and he could make out Aglain on the other side. He shook his head in confusion. Had the ritual begun?

The muscles of his back quivered. The dungeon. His father hating him, accusing him, whipping him... Yes, he supposed even if he'd chosen his way, fear of disappointing father was deeply rooted. But he hadn't fallen to Uther. He'd chosen magic when confronted with a decision that cost him. He straightened. His wrists stung. He must have been pulling at his bonds during his vision―dream? The pain in his back had ceased.

Success, right? Aglain had said he would fail, but he'd shown his true heart by resisting his father. So this could end. He'd opened his mouth to say so, when the scene changed abruptly to the grand hall in the citadel.

* * *

Merlin stood. Where was Arthur? There, but... they were in the dungeon and now, the grand hall?

"Arthur!" Merlin ran up to him, but Arthur didn't acknowledge his presence in any way. Merlin extended a tentative finger to poke his side and it slid into Arthur as if he were an illusion.

* * *

Arthur spun in a circle. Pallets covered the grand hall, laden with figures sporting blankets pulled up to their chins. Wounded? But they didn't use the grand hall unless there was a prolonged battle. He stilled, listening. No sounds of weapons clashing.

"Sire."

A very tired physician had materialized at his side. "Gaius."

"I am sorry, my lord. I tried all I could."

Arthur crouched to peer closer at the nearest figure. He suppressed a gasp at a deathly pale face he recognized. "Leon. When? How?"

"I couldn't stop the sickness."

Arthur turned frantically to the next pallet. Percival as well? His eyes scanned down the row. Elyan, Gwaine, Geoffrey, and then... No!

He rushed to another pallet, kneeling down and lifting a trembling hand to brush curly black locks. No heightened color rose in her cheeks, embarrassed by his attentions. He cupped his other hand under her chin, then jerked back. She was stiff and cold.

"Gwen," he breathed, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes. A hand rested on his head.

"So many lost."

Arthur wiped away tears and scrutinized every pallet. Each corpse was someone he knew well, friends he valued, knights he trusted, subjects who had gifted him in one way or another. He balled his fists.

"Did you try magic?"

Gaius didn't answer.

Arthur shot a glare at the physician. "Magic could have fixed this!"

Gaius sighed. "Magic can't fix everything."

Arthur scanned the hall again. He couldn't lose them, not these people, not those who made life worth living.

Shouting sounded from outside. Arthur forced himself to stand. "What is that?"

"They are carrying out your orders, my lord."

"What orders?"

"She thought our weakness a time to attack us, but she has been captured. You need no longer fear her."

Arthur ran to a window, unlatching it and pressing it open to view the courtyard. A disheveled Lancelot screamed and shouted in its center. Arthur followed his gaze to the object of his distress, a platform on which knelt a woman with dark hair. "Morgana."

An executioner raised an axe. Lancelot rushed the platform. Soldiers pushed him back.

"Stop!" Arthur shouted. It was too late. The axe fell. Arthur looked away, tears streaming down his cheeks once more. He crumpled to the floor, burying his head in his knees.

"You killed her, Arthur!" Lancelot shouted. "You did this! I'll have your head!"

Arthur covered his ears.

* * *

Merlin knelt in front of Arthur, holding out a useless hand, unable to comfort him. What was all this? Why had he become an incorporeal ghost forced to watch his friend's worst horrors and be unable to help him?

* * *

Droplets peppered Arthur's cheeks. He groaned. The bonds on his wrists pulled. He had dropped down, his knees barely touching the ground. He worked to come back to a stand. Arches...ritual... He couldn't stop crying. So much loss, everyone he'd ever loved, except Merlin. Merlin hadn't been there. What did that mean?

"Is..." his throat was so dry he could only croak. "Is it...over?" He didn't know if anyone heard him. It didn't matter. The scene shifted once more.

* * *

Several peasants sat in the courtyard, dirt stained, tired, worn. Knights leaned against columns, helmets removed, faces dripping with sweat. The sun blazed, driving shade from every space. The very cobbles steamed a fire under Arthur's feet.

The citadel! It was half destroyed, as if a giant had ripped off its tall stories, leaving only a jagged edge along the bottom level.

"Pretty picture, isn't?" a corrosive voice taunted. Lord Arnott perched on chipped entrance steps layered with thick dust. "Like that crown on your precious head."

Arthur became aware of a weight on his brow. He reached up to remove the crown and turned it over in his hands. It had tarnished to a sickly green.

"You thought you knew the way, didn't you? Arrogance. Pomp. Thinking you knew better than us all. Look what you've wrought."

Arthur looked up at Arnott, then the courtyard. He noticed now how thin everyone was, almost emaciated to the point of death. He looked back at Arnott's hollowed eyes.

"You bungled everything. No food, no water, no trade, no protection... We're a wasteland shaped by your hands."

The crown dropped from Arthur's grasp, clanging against the cobblestones and laying still. "I wanted to make this kingdom better, to lead better than my father..."

Arnott cackled. "Your every choice made us _worse_."

Arthur grabbed the counselor by his shoulder. "What can I do? There must be a way to change this!"

" _Now_ you ask? _Now_ you stop forcing your will on us?"

Arthur shook the lord. "Tell me!" The ground vibrated with rhythmic, pounding feet.

Arnott looked to the gates. "They've come like vultures to feed on what you killed."

Enemy knights from every hostile nation swarmed into the courtyard.

"Your kingdom is dead, _sire_. Our king is _dead_." Spittle hit the back of Arthur's neck. The emaciated skeletons in the courtyard converged on him with haunting, howling cries.

"I can save us! I can!" he shouted. They grasped at him, tearing at his tattered clothes and rusted armor. "I will save us!" The sun stopped shining.

* * *

Merlin had stood to the side, watching helplessly. He'd only moved once to take a swing at Arnott, cursing the counselor who tormented Arthur so. Couldn't he see how much the king suffered?

Merlin shouted at the sky. "Why won't you let me help him?"

* * *

The darkness lightened to a cloudy sky. Arthur stood above the courtyard on the balcony where his father had always announced proclamations and judgments. He stared down at the courtyard. It was filled with subjects kneeling. "I failed them."

"Sire?"

"Destroyed the kingdom..."

"My lord, your kingdom is saved."

Arthur turned his head and creased his brow. Leon stood next to him, face grim, which was unsurprising―the man tended to like his decorum―but he _was_ older by several years.

"You did what needed to be done."

Arthur pressed fingers into his eyelids. Hadn't he been down in the courtyard a moment ago? He didn't remember climbing up to the balcony.

Leon's voice grew quiet. "I know it was difficult. But you had no choice. He rebelled against you."

Arthur lowered his hands from his face. "Who?"

Leon swallowed. "You test me, my lord?"

"I...don't mean to."

"I will never speak his name as you commanded."

Arthur nodded slowly. "Good." He _thought_.

"But, my lord, I do wonder...if I may speak freely..."

"Always."

"How long you intend him to remain there."

Leon had pointed and Arthur followed the long finger to the roof across from the balcony. He staggered forwards, clutching at the balcony railing.

"I am sorry he opposed you and dared you to stand against him. None thought he would fight against you after all this time. Breaking the bond was your only choice."

"Why?" Arthur breathed out. He couldn't stop staring in horror at the wooden shaft jutting out from the roof, a rope dangling down from its end leading to a corpse swaying back and forth, buffeted by the wind. He couldn't fathom the sight of the pale lanky form, with a mop of black hair bleached grey in the sun, hung by the neck.

"I understand the lesson, my lord. Anyone who threatens your kingdom forfeits his life. Your father knew the value of such displays well. But...perhaps we could...take him down now?"

Arthur didn't answer. Instead, he ran to the edge of the balcony, vaulted onto the railing, and jumped for the roof, ignoring Leon's surprised call. He slipped, caught himself, broke his fingernails crawling across tiles to reach the wooden beam. He snatched the rope and employing all his strength, heaved the body onto the roof. He pressed a hand into a rigid cheek.

"Merlin, no, no." The eyes were sealed shut, the face gashed in several places. "Merlin. You have magic. You'll wake. You must!" He grasped the red neckerchief and used it to shake the body. "I didn't want to do this. I'm sorry! Wake up! Make yourself live again. Please, Merlin! Please!"

There was no response. He cradled the body and wept.

* * *

Merlin screamed. He shouted. He punched the air. "I'm here, right here. Arthur! Arthur!" No one could hear him. Energy tingled along his spine, sparks burst from his skin. The magic exploded...

Merlin heard shouts and cries and found himself staring up at a dark night sky twinkling with stars.

"Merlin!" His father was at his side. He shot up and grasped Balinor's sleeve.

"Where's Arthur?"

"Asleep, he―"

"You're lying! Where is he?"

"Merlin...he asked me not to tell you―"

"With the Druids." Percival had answered. He was standing inside the tent―well, there should have been a tent―a bandaged hand pulled into his chest. Merlin searched. The crumpled canvas of his tent lay in a heap several feet away, ripped and frayed. Knights stood alert at the cook-fire, eying him warily.

His father snapped at the giant knight. "He's doing what he has to and asked Merlin to remain here."

Percival considered his wrapped hand. "If he wants Arthur, then I'll take him to the king. He could be in danger."

"That is not what..."

Merlin had no patience to suffer another argument over his duty to Arthur. He bolted upright and raced away into the woods, slowing time and sprinting as if his life depended on it.

* * *

Arthur felt hard ground underneath him and a cold breeze passing over him.

"Is it finished?" someone queried. He couldn't identify the voice.

"The glow hasn't faded."

"Perhaps he's been granted a rest."

"Do we need to see more? You've seen his heart! What does it reveal?" He was pretty sure that voice belonged to Aglain. He tried to speak and couldn't. Every muscle ached and his eyelids had gummed shut, though images shifted behind them, echoes of his worst fears.

"He is better than we thought." That was...Iseldir? "And he's bonded Emrys."

"It seems so." More unfamiliar voices.

"Seems?"

"We...can't be too rash."

"You don't have to see any more!"

Arthur was too tired to follow the continued conversation. He had no sense of how long it had lasted when there was a sudden, shrill shout.

"What are you doing? No one was to come here!"

"He was with Morgause!" That was unmistakably Lancelot. Arthur's pinky finger on his left hand moved ever so slightly. Gods, his wrists and ankles burned.

"Morded." Iseldir spoke with authority. "Explain yourself."

"He hasn't bonded Emrys," a voice replied, younger than all the others.

Lancelot objected. "Merlin is..."

"He hasn't bonded Emrys! Because _I_ am Emrys!"


	94. A Multitude of Sins

"He must bear a great pain," Taliesin muttered, hand running over the magical shield.

Morgana shouted various spells at the barrier to no avail until Taliesin grabbed her wrist to stay her, explaining no spell she could conjure would be successful.

"I have to get through," she insisted, on the verge of tears. "If I can't help Arthur, how will he ever believe I'm not a harm to him?"

"He has to know you don't really mean harm," Gwen spoke at her elbow. "He's just been so grieved and so much has changed so quickly for him."

"But Uther... Arthur won't forgive me for that, unless..." Morgana buried her face in one hand. She should never have listened to Morgause. She should have left that cursed necklace in her sister's room, simply escaped and gone back to her life ignorant of painful truths.

Gwen only bit her lip in response. Of course she couldn't speak assurance, because it was treason. She had assaulted the king, and she hadn't warned Arthur Morgause might attack. She'd proven she wasn't trustworthy. Not even Lancelot had confidence enough in her to come after her.

"If Arthur dies, I'll go away. Far away."

Gwen clutched at her arm and raised her chin defiantly. "I'll go with you."

"Dear Gwen. I wouldn't let you."

"But..."

Morgana patted her arm. "You have a life in Camelot. Friends, your brother. And Merlin would need you. Losing Arthur is more than he could bear."

Gwen squeezed her arm. "You will come home. You must. I'll find a way. I promise."

Morgana didn't have the heart to contradict the girl but fervently wished she possessed even a smidgen of her optimism.

"He used his voice to disrupt the pattern," Taliesin declared with his hands held out in front of him, eying the shield like an odious enemy. "I felt the ripples afterward. A vibration. Emanating from here, I believe."

Morgana moved to the seer's side. "His scream?"

"Must have been. I've never seen its like. The pain in him was profound. I surmise he's managed to break through the fabric of the world to the foundation of magic itself, if only for a short period of time." Taliesin rubbed at his chin.

"Can we do the same?" Morgana asked.

Taliesin raised a critical eyebrow. "You harbor much pain as well, but your magic is limited. Seer's magic."

Morgana thrust her palm into the invisible barrier. "So your vision is true. Arthur will die, and I can do nothing!"

"You can do nothing."

Morgana cursed as her eyes glazed.

"But perhaps _I_ can do something. My pain is greater than yours, and I think even than his."

"Your pain?"

Taliesin sighed. "I was not entirely truthful with you, my dear. I left my home to wait for you...because I despaired of life. Oh, I had grand visions of redemption, finding solace by fixing what I started."

"What do you mean?"

"I was Sigan's first target when he assaulted Camelot. He cursed my children to disfigurement, and lit my home ablaze. And he cursed the blood of Bruta. None of the king's descendents would reign on Camelot's throne again without great detriment to themselves. This is why Bruta left instruction that none of his sons must rule. He chose a different king, a trusted knight with no relation to him."

Realization widened Morgana's eyes. "The blood of Bruta..."

Taliesin tilted his head at her and nodded. "Arthur Pendragon carries the blood of the first king of Camelot. This is why he can bond and why he is targeted. His blood is his curse."

Morgana laid a hand on the old man's shoulder. "You think you caused this by seeing Sigan's future."

"I could have kept silent. Not encouraged Bruta to doubt his friend. My words were a great wedge between them."

Morgana leaned in close to him, lowering her voice so Gwen couldn't hear. "Do I have Bruta's blood as well?"

Taliesin spoke softly. "Yes. Pendragon blood."

"But I have yours, too?"

"This is why I believe I was able to see you and the demise of Arthur Pendragon. My blood in you, yours combined with Bruta's. There is strong magic in life, and our blood brims with it."

"Someone carries Sigan's blood," she intuited.

"Indeed."

"Morded?"

He shook his head.

Morgana's heart sank. "Not Merlin."

Taliesin glanced over his shoulder at Gwen. "If the girl is correct, yes, this Merlin. The true Emrys. The blood of Bruta and Sigan was once bound together and has found each other once more."

Morgana let him go. Merlin. This knowledge would burden the boy so, to hear of his ancestor's turning on Camelot and its king. She couldn't ever reveal this to him.

Taliesin scowled at the barrier. "I must stop this. I will not allow a vengeful child to get in the way of my redemption. Stand back."

Morgana stepped away. Taliesin breathed deeply and closed his eyes. Soon he began to tremble and tears coursed down his cheeks. He appeared as a man wounded deeply in heart and mind, and it seemed he grew even older right before her eyes. And when he opened his mouth, she heard him even through the hands covering her ears. His scream was primal, a shriek wallowing up from the depths of the earth. He buckled to his knees and gestured wildly at the shield.

Morgana grabbed Gwen's hand and ran through. When she turned around, the scream ceased. The seer lay motionless on the ground. "Taliesin!"

"Go," the old man mumbled. "Straight east. Redeem me."

* * *

"You? Emrys?" a snide woman shouted, then cackled.

"I am," Mordred proclaimed, striding forward towards the arches.

"Mordred! Stop!" Iseldir demanded, standing between him and the circle.

Mordred halted, staring at Arthur Pendragon laying in the center of the arches, ropes tied to two poles securing his ankles. His wrists were bound as well, only the ropes attached to them were broken and frayed. It seemed they'd been ripped apart, their other halves remaining attached to the poles and flapping about in a breathy wind. The arches glowed faintly.

"Teine Diaga," Mordred whispered. He'd never seen the ritual himself, but he knew it was meant to vindicate the innocent. The king had asked for this? He wouldn't have unless...he had a way around it.

"I know this man did you great harm," Iseldir spoke calmly.

"He harms everyone who gives him their trust."

"We have seen into his heart. I believe..."

"That he's good!" Mordred shouted, throwing his hand out towards the elder. "He's tricked you all. Every single one. Don't you understand? He asked for this because he's manipulating the test!"

"Who is this yipping whelp?" The woman who had shouted at him jabbed a finger his direction.

"He is one of ours." Iseldir stepped towards him. "Let us take you to our camp and..."

"No!" Mordred backed away. "You believe him? All my life you've told me of King Uther, how he lured us, betrayed us, _murdered_ us, and now, you'll just bow to his _son_?"

"We have seen his true heart." The elder Aglain approached. "Your pain, Mordred, has been great. You have suffered. I understand."

"You don't!" Mordred spat. "None of you do. Only those he attacked and burned understand."

"Alvarr?" Iseldir questioned. "Were you with him?"

"Arthur Pendragon did not hurt them," Aglain explained.

"His false Emrys did. You think he's supposed to be your savior? Arthur Pendragon is using him! He'll turn on him, too."

A purple robed elder came towards them, speaking cautiously. "We did see Arthur Pendragon hang his warlock."

"His fear!" Iseldir replied quickly. "Not what he wants to happen."

"You may not _want_ something, but it may happen anyway. It may be the wickedness of his heart cannot be held in check for long."

"You saw him choose the lash of a whip for us!"

"What if Mordred is correct? Perhaps his warlock _has_ found a way to interfere in the ritual, manifest distorted fears?"

"That's absurd!" Aglain rounded on the purple robed elder. "You only mean to explain away what you are already convinced can't be true."

"You're such a fool!" Mordred snapped at Aglain. "Anyone who thinks any Pendragon will ever unite with us is a fool!"

Iseldir raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Stop. No more arguing." The light had faded from the arches. "The ritual has ended. We will discuss what we have seen. Mordred, go with..." Mordred raised his arm, yanking down his sleeve, and Iseldir's words faded to a whisper. "The death curse."

"There's nothing more to say," Mordred growled. "It's only time to finish it."

* * *

Merlin dodged trees, jumped thorny bushes, tumbled over rocks, weaving through a woody maze. By the time he reached the plain where they'd met the elders earlier, he'd stopped slowing time. He'd never been able to manage such magic for too long. He'd often wondered if time actually fought him when he performed such a feat. He barreled towards the arched circle and its figures awash in torchlight.

"Emrys!" someone shouted.

Everyone turned towards him and he slowed his run, chest heaving. "Where's Arthur?"

"You thought they'd figure it out, did you?"

Merlin startled at the voice, seeking out its owner. Mordred? Here?

"They know you were involved. Trying to make it look like he was on _their_ side. You're just a tool to him. He'll toss you to the wolves when you're useless to him."

Merlin found the other youth, glaring and pointing at him accusingly. What in the...

"How did you awake?" Aglain stared intently at him.

"I... just... woke up... What is going on?" It was then his eyes caught a prone figure with golden hair bound and attached to two poles in the center of the arches. "Arthur! What did you do to him?"

"He requested the Teine Diaga," Iseldir explained quickly.

Merlin felt his magic spike. "You...killed him?"

"No," Aglain said coming towards him.

"Revenge. It's what you wanted..."

"Emrys!" Nimueh appeared, stalking behind the two men. "Your king is not dead!"

Merlin stared between them all, confusion, fear, and frustration boiling over. His arms burned, his hands tingled, sparks flew upwards, a charge gathering in his palms.

"Stop!" His father's voice, the man's steps running up behind him. "Merlin, stop!"

Merlin stared at his hands, the magic writhing in his fingers, causing them to glow with a white and blue hue. It was building, taking over. He couldn't shut it down. It would lash out at everyone once more, wound them, maybe even kill them. He tried to turn and run, but he'd begun to shake all over and couldn't take a step. "Help...me."

"Surround him!" Nimueh shouted over her shoulder. "Before he destroys you all!"

Most of the elders ran towards him. His magic must have interpreted such an action as a threat. A scream ripped out of his throat as fiery darts consumed his fingertips and lightning shot from them, energy cracking towards Nimueh and the elders. Each of them threw up an enchanted shield. Merlin's power connected with the blocks, bouncing wildly from shield to shield, seeking a way forward. He jerked and quaked until the magic found its outlet, zooming skywards. It brightened the sky, then fizzled like a candle deprived of flame. Merlin shook residually, swaying on his feet, staring in horror at his blackened fingertips. His shoulders were grabbed and he was pulled into his father.

"A-a-Arthur..." He pushed his father away, stumbled. Nimueh snatched his hand.

"Emrys. Your king arranged for this. He..."

"Mordred!" Iseldir shouted.

Nimueh whirled, affording Merlin an unobstructed view of Mordred standing next to Arthur. The youth kicked the king over onto his back and leaned down to whisper in his ear at the same time he drew a dagger from his belt.

Merlin staggered a couple steps and fell to his knees.

Mordred thrust the dagger into his target with all his might.

* * *

Arthur had been trying to sort out the tumult of dialogue surrounding him. He could move his entire right hand, but hadn't been able to force his eyes open. He'd started to wonder if this was another vision of fear―going blind?―but a voice called his name, and he recognized Merlin's shout. He worked his jaw, eager to respond, but soon after a double thumping vibrated through his chest, making him all the more breathless.

He thought Merlin screamed, but his hearing had dulled. His brain fought for some kind of purchase over his muscles, maybe just enough to lift himself from the ground. Before he could manage it, a heavy something thudded into his side and he rolled. A voice harshly resounded in his ear, but he couldn't place its owner.

"Your turn."

A sickening point pierced him, then slid into his body, just under his ribs on the right side.

* * *

Mordred grinned at the hilt of his dagger protruding from Arthur Pendragon, an exact replica of his own wound when he'd tied to escape Camelot with Morgana and Lanceleot. Pity the king wouldn't suffer his months of recovery, the aching, weakening pain, the ugly inflamed scar. Mordred fervently wished he'd been able to abscond with the king, lock him up somewhere, watch him suffer the wound, suffer as had so many at Pendragon hands. Well, he'd have to make due with justice doled out in death. He yanked the dagger free, stood, and opened his mouth. Time to assure no one would stop the death blow to the king's gut...

An invisible grip seized him, like a giant's fist squeezing the life out of him, then it lifted him into the air and hurled him into an arch's beam.

* * *

When Morgana found the stone arches, she put on a burst of speed, eyes darting here and there, searching for the object of her quest. Some kind of shouting match was taking place, but she paid it no heed when she spotted Arthur lying on the ground. Only he wasn't alone. Mordred was there, at his side, dagger raised. He plunged the blade into the king.

Morgana wailed her spell, and magic burst forth, flowing through her arm. She closed her hand into a fist and Mordred struggled. She flung her arm out, unclenching her hand. Mordred flew through the air into an arch. He dropped the dagger and slumped forward when he hit ground. She'd made it to Arthur. She ran an eye over his pale, unmoving form, blood running down his side. Too late!

A wind tore at her clothes, shoved her backwards. She dug in her heels. Mordred stalked forwards, limping, hand outstretched, chanting. Arthur began to seize and gurgle, one hand weakly brushing his neck. The vision. He was being strangled.

Her eyes burned. She shouted a spell and fire blasted from her hand. Mordred threw his hands up in front of himself, catching the blast with a shield. Arthur breathed, panting shallowly.

Morgana raised both arms outstretched, palms outwards. "Get out of here, Mordred!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gwen kneel next to Arthur, tear a swathe from her skirt, and stuff the cloth into Arthur's wound, trying to staunch the blood flow. A presence took up a position on her left, a form she knew so well she had to choke back a sob. Lancelot drew his sword and brandished it at Mordred.

Mordred's eyes sparked with betrayal, then darkened with hate. "You won't stop me," he growled. "Not even you." He opened his mouth and screamed.

* * *

Merlin's magic reacted without conscious thought the moment Mordred started to scream. He'd experienced this before, in the citadel courtyard when Mordred knocked everyone down to a stupor in an attempt to rescue Freya. Merlin had shielded himself and Gaius then, but no one now was close enough to share his protection. He could only watch as everyone around him doubled over and covered their ears.

Merlin cursed his weakness, the same he'd suffered after causing the campfire to rage out of control. He might harbor an abundance of power, but its use drained its fleshy container. Morgana, who had appeared out of nowhere to defend Arthur, sank to her knees and Lancelot with her. He sighted Gwen at Arthur's side, already pitched over on top of the king.

Merlin dug within himself, searching for any remnant of strength to stop this, then he hesitated. If he found it, what then? Another explosion searing into people, catching innocents in its wake just to take out Mordred?

His eyes stung as tears gathered and blurred his sight. He couldn't repeat what he'd done in the camp, but Arthur couldn't die. Without Arthur, his life would be meaningless, purposeless, an empty void.

Elders collapsed outside his shield as Mordred continued to scream. Merlin wiped at his eyes, staring at Mordred's open mouth, but hearing only a dull roar. The magic seemed to regather somewhat, answering his search for it, but what good if he couldn't use it for fear of hurting everyone?

Nimueh had fallen towards his shield, holding out a hand and crawling towards him, moving her lips. Apparently even she couldn't conjure protection against Mordred's scream. His shield would be her salvation. Merlin gasped. His shield. Why did his magic always have to be destruction? Couldn't it be protection, too?

Merlin forced himself to a stand, muscles bunching and quivering in protest. He willed himself forward, one step, two, and called upon every ounce of magic within his grasp, pushing his shield outward, enlarging it. People he passed dropped their hands from their ears, finding relief. He kept on, shoving as if against a wall of mud, focusing energy into his shield, ever widening it. He reached the arches and when he came within a few feet of Morgana, he sank to all fours in front of her, clenching his teeth, willing the shield to hold.

* * *

The pain and pressure in Morgana's ears halted, though they rang sharply. She found Merlin inexplicably next to her, teeth gritted, trembling, eyes screwed shut. She reached out a hand to touch him, but one word seeped through his teeth. "Arthur."

She pushed herself to her feet to behold Mordred standing across from her next to an arch, mouth open, but she heard only a muted buzzing. She raised her hands and shouted.

"You won't have him, Mordred! Ever! You or Morgause or anyone!" She planted her feet in front of Arthur, bracing herself. Lancelot took his place next to her again, though he didn't raise his sword, probably weakened by the scream. Others joined their line in front of Arthur, Sir Lucan, two counselors she recognized from Camelot, Nimueh, Aglain. Then more Druids came, stumbling to their line and holding up their hands until Arthur was shielded by a mass of bodies.

The scream faded and Mordred's mouth closed.

"Leave now!" Morgana shouted.

"I'm the true Emrys!" Mordred raged. "You think Arthur Pendragon the answer to your prophecy? He will turn on you and kill you all!" He glared down the line, then thrust his arm in the air, pulling down his right sleeve to reveal a scarred rune. "I'll never stop fighting him. I _am_ Emrys and I will free the world of him!"

Mordred backed away from the line, beyond the arched circle. A few of the Druids followed. One of the men in the line called out to his fellows. "Anlon! Kean! Murtaugh!" But they didn't heed. Mordred turned and ran, and they hurried after him into the black woods.

* * *

"Arthur!"

When Merlin lowered his magical shield, the first sound that pierced through him was Gwen's wail. Merlin lifted his head. Arthur was smothered in people, Morgana, Druids, Aglain, Lancelot.

"Emrys." He looked aside to Nimueh crouched down at his level bearing a faint smile, like a proud tutor. "You used your pain."

Merlin blinked, tried to nod, and slumped forward into darkness.

* * *

Arthur rose to awareness when a soft, wet cloth brushed his forehead. He remained still, basking in the soothing coolness circling his cheeks and chin and the soft humming accompanying it. Eventually he recalled vague memories before he awoke―murmuring voices hovering over him, a sensation of being lifted, and then floating as he might when swimming, except gusty breezes lapped against him rather than waves.

He finally dragged his lids open and blinked against dim light, head throbbing. He smacked dry lips. The tip of a waterskin pressed against them and he swallowed with relief, filling his mouth and throat. He noted a form across from him, laying on a pallet aside a tent wall. "Merlin," he strained out.

"He's all right. He's sleeping. They thought it best he rest near you."

Arthur's heart skipped a beat and a rush of warm pleasure flooded him as he looked upwards. He smiled. "Gwen." She smiled back, shyly, and produced in him a stomach churning love he hadn't indulged in months.

"She hasn't left your side." The declaration came from Lancelot, standing near the entrance of his tent, arms crossed, mouth set grimly. A lantern hanging from the tent support swung next to the knight, who suddenly seemed to have an urge to steady it, giving it his whole attention.

"Still night?" Arthur inquired.

"Almost sunrise."

"You were hurt," Gwen said softly. He turned his gaze back to her and raised his hand without thinking. She peered at it in indecision for a couple seconds, then clasped it, drawing it into her breast. A tingle shivered down his spine, and he had to resist the urge to push up and savor a kiss.

"How did you get here?"

Her posture straightened, and she got that look she foisted on him when she thought he deserved chastisement. "I told you she wouldn't harm you. She's loyal to you. She always has been."

Arthur's smile faltered as his brow furrowed. "Who?"

She gasped in exasperation. "Morgana, that's who."

Arthur tried to shift to sit up, but a pounding ache on his right side, under his lowest rib, set him wincing and moaning. He glanced down to find himself bare-chested and swathed in a bandage. He frowned. "Did I hurt myself so badly?"

"You did thrash around quite a bit," Lancelot spoke lowly. "But that's not how you got the wound."

Arthur ran careful fingers along the bandage, tracing the throbbing line with his fingers. "Feels like...a sword thrust." Arthur's eyebrows drew together. "They tried to assassinate me?"

"It was a dagger, and just Mordred," Gwen replied.

Arthur shook his head to clear it. "Who?"

Lancelot spoke tersely. "You don't remember? The boy Morgana and I tried to get out of the castle. You stabbed him when we tried to help him escape."

Arthur rubbed at his forehead. Right. And he had seen the same boy in Merlin's memories, angry and vengeful. "I remember."

"Turns out he's cursed himself. He has to kill you or die."

Arthur lay back down and tried to ignore the pain. "I think you'd better explain what happened." He listened with rapt attention and not a little annoyance. He'd been stabbed just like he'd stabbed Mordred. Apparently rescuing the kid hadn't been enough to receive mercy. He'd paid once again for someone's anger against the crown. How many times would he have to keep paying? How many were going to try to kill him? Didn't they understand he was doing what he could? He fought to tamp down his temper, but hadn't succeeded, not until Lancelot explained Morgana had appeared.

"Morgana," Arthur whispered, anger over the continual attacks vanishing as he visualized her in his mind's eye.

"She saved your life." Gwen stated petulantly, squeezing his hand for emphasis. "She was always on your side. That's why I found her...or went looking for her."

"You went alone?" Now he squeezed her hand. A women wandering alone without protection? "I could have lost you."

Gwen appeared flustered, shifting where she sat, biting her lip, and swallowing uncomfortably. "Yes, well, you didn't. But Morgana, she knew you'd get hurt, and she came to save you, and that makes everything right again, doesn't it?"

"Knew I would. How..." He slapped his free hand to his forehead. "Magic. Gaius says she can see the future. Her mother was a seer."

Gwen shot a startled look at Lancelot and he glanced away to the lantern. "Yes," she confirmed.

Arthur stared between his friends, then sighed at Gwen. "You knew as well. All of you keeping her secret from me."

"We wouldn't let you hurt her," Gwen proclaimed, dropping his hand.

Arthur hated the loss of her warmth and spoke more harshly than he intended. "Where is Morgause?"

"She left her," Gwen snapped. "And she _saved_ you! She stood right in front of you and wouldn't let Mordred come close to you."

Heat blossomed along the back of Arthur's neck and he felt suddenly sick. "Where is she?"

Gwen eagerly stood. "I can bring her to you."

Arthur nodded slowly. Gwen bolted passed Lancelot as she left the tent. The knight laid dark eyes on him and turned to leave. "I'm surprised you aren't gloating," Arthur stayed him.

Lancelot peered over his shoulder. "Gloat? I mistrusted her the same as you."

Arthur laughed sorrowfully. "I doubt that."

"I mistrusted enough that I didn't go after her."

"Lancelot―"

"When you faced your fear, we saw it, too, through those arches. I don't know how it worked, but in that glowing haze was a moving picture. I saw her executed. I saw myself trying to stop it."

Arthur closed his eyes, the vision of his fear replaying as clear as day. "That's not going to happen," he whispered.

"You fear I'll choose Morgana over you. And the truth is, Arthur, I don't know that I should have chosen you. And I'm sorry."

When Arthur opened his eyes, Lancelot was gone.

* * *

Morgana stood before the entrance to Arthur's tent. Gwen had reported he wanted to see her. The knights guarding her were a bit hesitant at first, but Sir Lucan reminded them the king gets what he wants and directed her to a tent. Gwen followed at her side, glaring at the knights marching behind.

Morgana glanced down at her shackled wrists. She understood. They did it out of precaution. Most of the knights had showed up right after Mordred left, apparently spurred to action after Merlin had bolted away from their camp. They came upon a wounded king, a bunch of people trying to heal him, and a woman they assumed an enemy. They wouldn't be placated until she was secured. She had to calm Gwen down and keep her from screaming at the knights before she could submit. By that time, Arthur had been lifted into the air so the Druids could transport him back to the camp. When they arrived, she was summarily dumped in a tent to be guarded at all times.

She hadn't cared, knowing this had been a possible outcome of daring to show her face. But nothing could have prepared her for seeing Lancelot. He hadn't spoken a word to her, hadn't even looked at her, just kept his distance. And she couldn't help feeling she deserved such treatment. She _had_ misused the noble man, not told him about Morgause or Uther or any of it. She'd hurt him, probably irrevocably.

"Arthur asked for you," Gwen spoke softly next to her. "He _wanted_ to see you. You don't have to worry."

Morgana smiled gently at Gwen's misreading of her thoughts. Still, the interruption brought her back to the moment, and reminded her how scared she really was to face Arthur. She knew what _she_ had to do; she just didn't know what _he_ would do.

Morgana straightened, quirked her lips, and spat out a careless reply to cover her nerves. "I've never been afraid of Arthur."

Gwen smiled, then perched on her tiptoes to kiss her cheek. "It will all be okay again."

Morgana appreciated the girl's idealism, but it didn't make her feel any better―she couldn't share it. Sir Lucan pulled back the tent flap and eyed Gwen. "Stay here."

Gwen frowned. "I thought I could..."

"I want to face him alone," Morgana interjected. It would hurt the faithful girl too much if Arthur did what he must.

"I'll be near," Gwen promised.

Morgana spared a moment to breathe and let her eyes wander to the sun peeking above the horizon, bright beams skimming along the forest floor and shining in the morning dew. Freedom. She wasn't sure she'd done enough even now to earn it. She stepped inside the tent.

* * *

A lump lodged in Arthur's throat when the tent flap pulled back and Morgana entered. Her green eyes ran over him, but came to rest on Merlin still asleep. She wore the purple dress he'd last seen her in, though it was now tattered and frayed. Dirt stained her face and hands, and he wondered when she last might have slept or eaten. Anger surged when he observed the shackles around her wrists.

"Get those off her."

"Sire?"

"The shackles. Now."

Sir Lucan produced a key and quickly detached them. Morgana rubbed at her wrists and risked another wary glance his way. His stomach roiled, and he felt even more sick, hot, and embarrassed. "Leave us."

"Sire, we thought it best I st―"

"Leave."

Sir Lucan bowed his head and marched out. Morgana had gone back to staring at Merlin.

"He's all right. Resting," Arthur explained quietly.

She nodded.

"He has magic...like you."

She didn't speak for a moment, seemingly unsurprised he knew. She must have assumed someone would tell him eventually. "I know he has magic."

She did? He should have guessed. Everyone knew everything about everybody―except him! Everyone he cared about had hidden themselves, unable to risk trusting the son of Uther who could ruin their lives with a snap of his fingers. Not a one could share their deepest truths and fears with him.

He wanted to scream. He ground his teeth, gazing on his childhood companion who had always been strong and independent and stubborn. He'd often pretended to be above her company, grousing when she dragged him off to play, but secretly, whenever she showed up his world grew brighter, more exciting. She had been a constant friend, and heaven knows he'd had few of those. Then he had lost her and he couldn't suffer it, couldn't accept the pain, so he covered it, blaming her for it. And now...

"Gwen said you saved my life."

Morgana's eyes fluttered back to him, resting only a moment before concentrating on her wringing hands. "I saw something. I couldn't let it happen." She looked back up and he caught a hint of the boldness he'd always admired. "Gwen told me you're lifting the ban on magic."

"By the time I get back to Camelot, it will be ready for dissemination."

She nodded and began to turn her head, but before should could look away once more, he pushed up on his elbows and let his words rush out.

"Didn't we say we'd always be honest with each other? Then let's get on with it. I thought you were on her side, Morgause, your sister. You didn't tell me anything about her and then she showed up and you were there and..." He waved a hand in agitation. "It doesn't matter. I came to the wrong conclusion, didn't I? I was upset. I thought you hated him... You said those things about him doing evil... Just stood there when she said she'd kill him..." He shook his head and hissed loudly in frustration that he couldn't make his words coherent enough to explain his tumultuous thoughts.

Morgana sank to the floor, staying near the entrance, arms wrapped around her knees, staring into them, her face draining of color. She seemed so...so...fragile. The term shocked him; he'd never thought to associate it with her. Her voice tremored and came out small and choked. "I have to tell you something."

Arthur stiffened at her trepidation. Her chin began to quiver and tears to grace her eyes.

"Morgause told me about my father. Uther killed him."

Arthur sat forward, ignoring his protesting wound. "Your father was his closest friend."

"Once. Then Uther turned on magic and mistreated the innocent. My father spoke against him and Uther turned him over to Aredian."

"Aredian?" Arthur repeated in horror. "No. He wouldn't. The witch lied to you."

Morgana shook her head. "It was the truth."

"It makes no sense."

Morgan's head whipped away from her knees, green eyes skewering him like glass shards. "Doesn't it? Uther _hated_ magic and everything about it. He wouldn't abide anyone taking up for those who practiced it. You know how many he killed and tormented. You can't deny it!"

Arthur fought the urge to shout at her, his tone low and hoarse. "He...made mistakes."

"Mistakes? Is that how you mean to absolve him? Torture, executions, murder _...mistakes_?"

"I'm not saying he didn't do anything wrong... I just..." Arthur balled his hands into fists, irritated she made him speak so directly. "He did wicked things, I know, but his closest friend?"

"When I escaped Morgause, I stole a magical object. I used it on Uther. He had to speak the truth to me, but it wasn't just his words. I _saw_ it, Arthur... He killed my father. I know he did."

Arthur worked his jaw for a moment. What if this was true, not just a witch's lies, but his father failing _again_? "All right. Say that's true. Is that why you were there in the courtyard? Is that why you were going to let Morgause kill him?"

Morgana pressed her forehead into her knees and her reply came out muffled. "I didn't know she planned to attack Camelot so soon. I knew she would do something eventually. And then she did and... How could I defend him? He _did_ do awful things. I wanted him dead and I didn't want him dead." She turned her head back to him. "I didn't know I'd see what I did. I wish I hadn't." Her eyes filled with tears. "It wasn't just my father... He lied to me... He hid _more_ from me... An awful truth..." She stopped speaking.

The cut below Arthur's ribs flared and he bit back a gasp as his gut twisted in ribbons. His father. Hiding truths. Deceiving him all his life. About his mother. Until a magical cave exposed the naked lie. And he'd returned to Camelot ready to pour his wrath out, came so close to doing so. Merlin had talked him down that night in his simple, childlike way.

Arthur grit his teeth and steeled himself. "Tell me his sins, Morgana."

Morgana wiped at her eyes with the back of one hand. "It will hurt you."

"Then it hurts me. Speak."

"Uther found solace...in the arms of my mother." Her cheeks paled even farther.

Arthur stared. His father had loved his mother, worshipped the ground she walked on, idolized her. He'd gone after magic because he lost her, killed thousands to punish what ripped her away from him. "You mean..." He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"He told me. That day, in his chamber, when I used the truth magic... I saw him tell my mother...to kill me...his child by her... I'm your sister."

"Sister," Arthur echoed. The tent spun out of control. He pitched back onto his pallet, hand to his head, eyes closed, so near vomiting he could taste its sourness in his throat. Sister? It couldn't be. His father wouldn't have betrayed his mother, would he? Couldn't...couldn't... Rage ate up his chest, he strained to breathe. _How many times will you destroy us? How much must we suffer because of you?_

"I was so angry," Morgana whispered. "He told my mother to kill me, and she refused. She married Gorlois so he would think I was his. I thought so, too. I loved him, Arthur. And Uther killed him...and I didn't want a monster for a father and...I wasn't thinking. I just touched him, hurt him..." She cleared her throat of sniffles. "I know what you have to do. It's treason. I can't have everything back the way it was, so just do what you must."

Arthur couldn't take it anymore. His eyes shot open and he bolted from his pallet, wound or no, stinging throb disregarded. He crossed to her on all fours, grasped onto her, and pulled her into him. She clung to him, arms clutched around his middle, head dug into his chest, weeping.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "For what he did. What _I_ did. Sorry...sor..." His throat closed. He held her tightly, rocking her as she grieved, and wishing with every fiber of his being he could have changed the past they both despised.

* * *

Lancelot paced on the other side of the camp, watching Sir Lucan guard Arthur's tent with Gwen waiting not too far away. He noticed the dirt wearing down under his tread as the sun rose above the horizon but continued to stalk back and forth.

Most of his life had been darkness. He was well aware people considered him jovial, pleasant, sociable... how he had managed to make that kind of impression with his past baffled him. All those nights he'd curled up in bed, hidden under the sheets, aching from a beating or stinging with welts, Morgana had been the light in his darkness. He'd imagine her next to him, soothing the hurt away with comfortable banter, a kiss to his forehead, and maybe if he was lucky, a declaration of love. Just the thought of her had banished the shadows. And when she'd faced her own darkness, fleeing Camelot... he'd denied her.

Movement at the entrance to Arthur's tent halted Lancelot's boots. Morgana had emerged, Arthur behind her standing inside still, speaking to Sir Lucan. He turned away. He couldn't let her see him, couldn't confront the sight of the woman he'd betrayed.

"Sir Lancelot!" Sir Lucan called.

Lancelot's step hitched before he swiveled on his heel.

"King Arthur commands you to accompany the Lady Morgana."

* * *

Morgana walked ahead of Lancelot. She'd requested permission to retrieve someone left outside the Druid shield. She hadn't explained in detail; Arthur trusted her anyway. And then he'd gone and assigned Lancelot of all the knights to aid her. She understood very well what Arthur meant to do, but curse him for putting them in such a position. Didn't he understand Lancelot hated her now? He'd handed her his heart free and clear, and she had crushed it.

Gwen kept pace next to her side, every so often glancing back at Lancelot, but keeping wisely silent. Morgana spotted the Druid ahead, leaning against a tree, muttering and holding up his hands. She slowed her step and Lancelot passed her. His bearing was stiff, his posture straight and formal.

"You. There is a man outside this shield the Lady Morgana wishes to speak to."

The grey-bearded Druid continued to mumble.

"Drop the shield."

The Druid continued to chant, but screwed up his forehead and nodded his head to the right. Morgana followed his gesture. "Taliesin!" Not far away, a form lay curled into himself, eyes slotted, mouth gaping. Morgana approached, kneeling at his side and grasping his hand. His eyelids opened farther.

"Seer Morgana," he breathed. He was deathly pale, beard thinner, skin sallow, clinging to bone. "Is the king..."

"What happened to you? They hurt you?"

"The king...the king..."

"Mordred didn't kill him. I stopped him. Arthur lives."

Taliesin smiled, showing yellowed teeth. "I am redeemed. Redeemed... Ahhhh!" He curled in farther, pulling his hand away from her to press into his stomach.

"How could they do this to you?"

"They did nothing...did it myself." He snatched at her wrist, holding tightly. "I had only so much to give... I knew...I wouldn't last long..."

"You can't be dying!" Morgana panicked. "I need your teaching, your help."

"You've seen... you can change it... influence... use it for good... That's what matters."

"Taliesin, stay with me," she pleaded.

The seer reached up to pat her cheek. "Thought myself foolish...waiting so long...for a vision... Was worth it... Proud...of you."

Her tears coursed freely.

Taliesin withdrew his hand from her cheek and rummaged in his robe. He withdrew a glass vial shining with a clear liquid and protected by a surrounding wooden cage. He pressed it into her right hand. "Gift...water from beyond the veil... Use it when you need time... A few minutes...is all you'll have... Make them count."

He seized. The hand encircling her wrist became a death grip. He shouted aloud, then relaxed and suddenly smiled. "Greatness... glory... a new dawn..." A last breath rattled free and he stilled. His grip loosened, his hand dropped. Someone clasped her shoulders―Gwen.

"I need him," Morgana whispered. She didn't want to be all alone again.

After a brief silence, Lancelot appeared next to her, crouching down to cradle and lift Taliesin's body. "We'll give him a proper burial."

Morgana dared to meet his gaze and found not anger, but compassion and sorrow. "You don't even know him."

"He meant something to you. That's enough." Lancelot turned, striding ahead of them back to the camp.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Well, I _thought_ this would be the last chapter of Year 4, but once again, too much to share and I'll have to write one more chapter for the year-But next time back to Camelot and a couple surprises in the capital! Things are afoot! Everything is finally coming together in the year that changes everything!


	95. Together at Last, Part I

**Author's Note:** Long wait means long chapter, but it's all come together! I divided this chapter into two since it became so long, but I am posting _both_ at the same time so you can read them all at once or read them one at a time at your leisure.

* * *

Upon waking, Merlin was sure he had must have spent the last week harvesting Ealdor's crop fields. Every inch of him ached, muscles chastising him for punishing them so long, except they were outdone by his fingers, every end of which protested his abusing them as he gripped a flail to repeatedly beat the chaff from heaps of grain. When he finally cracked open his eyes, he was momentarily confused by the white tent ceiling above, until he turned on his side and saw Arthur propped up against his traveling pack, clothed in a woolen red shirt, though part of it had ridden up to reveal a white bandage.

"Merlin. Can you move?"

Merlin nodded slowly and pushed himself up, overtired muscles in his arms twitching. Once he'd naively thought accessing his full potential would turn him into some invincible warlock. Instead, it kept knocking him flat, and he had to rise from the ashes each time like the phoenix of legend, only he came back with his insides scoured through.

"Are you okay?" he croaked.

"I will be," Arthur answered quietly. "There's food. And—"

Merlin observed bread and meat set on a plate in front of him and followed Arthur's finger to the far side of the tent near the entrance. "Morgana and Gwen?" The two women were bundled in blankets side by side, Gwen's hand peeping out to rest protectively on Morgana's back, both soundly asleep.

"Morgana insisted on waiting for you to wake, and Gwen wouldn't leave her. I've watched over them. Haven't slept much." His hand lightly caressed the bandage round his middle and he pulled down his shirt to cover it.

"Nimueh said you _asked_ for that thing, that... ritual?"

"Yes."

"You said we'd make decisions together. You didn't tell me."

Arthur turned worn blue eyes on him, and Merlin felt suddenly guilty for admonishing the wounded man, but he couldn't help it. He was Emrys, meant to make sure Arthur didn't die so they could fulfill their destiny. At least, that's what he _thought_ he was supposed to do, but out of control magic and rogue Druids attacking and Mordred showing up, and now being left out of Arthur's decision making? His last frayed nerve was close to snapping.

Merlin centered his attention on the plate but picked up the wooden cup next to it first, swallowing a chill sweet wine.

"I directed Balinor to use his herbs to put you to sleep."

Merlin's head jerked up. "You what?"

Pink colored Arthur's cheeks. "I didn't want you to come along, not after the fire incident. It would have killed you if something like that happened again. From what I've been told, it almost did anyway."

"Y-eah," Merlin replied slowly. Arthur couldn't trust him. Arthur couldn't rely on him. He couldn't even tell him when he meant to undertake a ritual that might...

"Oh, stop it, Merlin. You get that look on your face, and I know you're mentally lashing yourself. All that self-loathing in your eyes, I hate seeing it. Maybe I should have told you, but your magic woke you anyway I assume. We're too tied together for it to be tricked, I think."

Merlin worked to school his features as he tore off a chunk of bread. Weakness aside, he _was_ hungry. "So what was that thing you let them do to you?" He popped the piece in his mouth.

"Teine Diaga, Aglain said it's called," Arthur answered, picking up his own wooden cup and drinking deeply, then letting it rest in his lap. "It reveals a person's deepest fears. It's usually requested by someone accused to prove they have a pure heart. I wasn't quite sure what it would show of mine."

Merlin shook the meat in his hand at Arthur. "You submitted to a _magic_ ritual without knowing what would happen?"

Arthur chuckled. "You should see your face. You look like one of my old tutors."

"Well it was stupid!" Merlin defended, heat rising in his own cheeks now.

Arthur's fingers turned the cup in his hand and he stared down at it. "It was the only thing I had left. I trusted Aglain. He's a good man." He huffed a short laugh. "Wouldn't my father have loved to hear me say that of a Druid."

Merlin smiled, melting some of his ire. "Aglain told you to do it?"

"He mentioned it as a possibility. I agreed. I need this alliance, for me and you and even the Druids."

"Did it work?"

Arthur took another sip and closed his eyes. "I don't know. Mordred showed up. Apparently he wants revenge on me. Who doesn't these days? And then Morgana materialized out of nowhere to defend me and you followed on her heels and there was a lot of chaos and the Druids brought me back here and left without a word."

"I saw them," Merlin confessed quietly, the puzzle of his nightmares coming clear. Arthur opened his eyes and lifted his eyebrows. "Your fears. I dreamed them."

"Then...you saw..." Arthur clenched his jaw. "Merlin, I won't ever break the bond. I swear to you."

Merlin smiled with half his mouth. "I don't think you will."

"The truth is..." Arthur ran a finger around the lip of his cup, "I've been unable to sleep thinking about those fears... I think there was more in most of them... It's not the breaking of the bond so much as losing you at all."

"I won't let myself get lost," Merlin assured.

"Sometimes circumstances fight against us," Arthur muttered. Merlin followed his gaze to Morgana, breathing deeply, clothing bedraggled, though someone seemed to have cleaned her face and combed her hair from when he'd seen her at the circle of stones. Probably Gwen.

"She came back. You talked to her?" He stuffed a bite of meat into his mouth and chewed cautiously, watching Arthur nod absently.

"She knows about your magic."

Merlin swallowed. "Yeah. She found out when...you know, your father..."

"She hurt him. She says you tried to save him."

Merlin ducked his head under Arthur's scrutiny. "I didn't want you to lose him and what she did was wrong."

Arthur's voice lowered confidentially, as if he meant to confess a great wrong. "She did what you stopped me from. After the vision of my mother dying, I wanted to hurt him, and you came that night and talked to me and I didn't." Arthur blew out a gusting breath. "I'm glad I found you, Merlin, or destiny brought us together or whatever is going on here. I needed a sound kick to my backside—no, kicks—and you gave them to me."

Merlin smiled sheepishly. "I didn't ever want to hurt you."

"And that makes your blows all the more valuable." Arthur smiled for a brief moment, then his eyes grew shiny and he spoke in barely a whisper. "She's my sister. Morgana is my sister."

"Of course she is."

"No. My true sister. Daughter of my father."

Merlin paused, another piece of bread hovering in front of his lips.

"My father bedded her mother," Arthur went on bitterly. "That's what she saw. My father wanted her killed as an infant to hide his betrayal." Arthur picked up his wooden cup again, scowling at the white tent wall, "So I can't blame her for hurting him."

Sister. Merlin dropped his hand and looked at Morgana, recalling what she'd said when he'd stopped her attacking Uther about how she had to know and she didn't mean to. "You'll let her come back to Camelot?"

Arthur swallowed several more sips of wine before answering. "It's her home. I'm her brother. She'll receive the respect she deserves as sister to the king."

"And I can come, too?"

Arthur's head swiveled to him. "Why would you assume otherwise?"

Merlin considered the faint pink left behind on his fingertips. They still hurt just enough to remind him of the searing energy that had bolted from them. "I can hurt people. I know I asked you to stay with me..." He straightened his posture. If Arthur could submit to an agonizing ritual just to prove who he was, if Arthur could keep shouldering burden after burden, well, he wasn't going to do any less. "I'll ask the Druids to keep me here. I can learn and Camelot will be safe."

Arthur gestured him closer. Merlin scooted over to him and the king pulled him in with an arm around his shoulder. "Good old Merlin. I don't have just a sister. I have a brother, truly. And I won't part from either of you."

"But, Arthur, I can't control the magic, not much anyway. What if I..."

"We'll find a way. Even if I have to build you your own house outside the city. Decisions together, like you said. From now on. I swear." Arthur let him go. "Now, eat. You need to pack up. We leave by noon."

* * *

Morgana stood at the end of a square bed of fresh turned earth, a shiver spiraling round her spine. She recalled a similar mound, at the time without a headstone and a stop along the way to Camelot. Someone had tried to press flowers into her hands then and she'd pushed them away. She hadn't wept or knelt or spoken a word. Her father wasn't dead. Couldn't be dead. And she wasn't being dragged away to a life without him. Any moment she would wake from this empty darkness to the light of her father's eyes.

An arm wrapped around Morgana's waist and she allowed a sad smile to grace the boy on her right. Dear Merlin, so uninhibited by proper custom. She accepted his gesture, winding her arm around his middle in return. When she'd awoken, she'd found him alert and eating. She and Gwen had smothered him in hugs and kisses until Arthur called them off. And he'd looked so guilty, of course, and she'd had to swear most of what had transpired had been her fault, not his, and then Gwen had profusely thanked him for the use of her arm, and that seemed to lift his spirits somewhat.

Morgana tipped her head into Merlin's with ease, realizing with a start how tall he'd grown.

"I wish I could have met him," Merlin spoke gravely. She'd explained Taliesin's role in the events on their way to his final resting place, judiciously keeping back those parts of the story that would increase the youth's burdens.

"I wish I could have known him longer," Morgana mourned. "He could have taught me so much more about who I am." Merlin's arm around her tightened. She straightened. She had to be strong. For both of them. They could bear the load of their singular magic if they walked side by side on the journey. "We'll do what we must on our own. Camelot will learn it doesn't have to fear magic through us."

"They don't have to fear _you_ ," Merlin whispered.

"Nor you," she insisted. When he didn't reply, she squeezed him closer. "You have their best in heart. You'll learn to control who you are. We'll both learn." A side glance revealed he'd closed his eyes and he worked his jaw.

A hand slipped into her own on the left, the telltale warmth of her maidservant. "I'll do what I can, too." Ever faithful Gwen. So often their backbone when everything came crashing down. If Arthur didn't turn his attentions back to the girl soon, Morgana would see that his ears rang with a resounding lecture for a week.

Lancelot reemerged from the surrounding trees. He'd come to fetch her after burying Taliesin, led them to the spot he'd chosen, then backed away into the woods. Morgana had recited traditional blessings over the grave herself and prayed for the seer's eternal peace. Lancelot approached her, holding out a passel of white wild flowers. She accepted them, lowering her gaze when their fingers brushed, and knelt at the foot of the grave to address the dead seer.

"I'll secure the Camelot you gave us back. It will never fall while I draw breath." She laid the flowers on the mound, pressed her palm into the dirt, and bowed her head. A sacred silence reigned until Gwen broke it, speaking forcefully.

"Merlin, you must help me pack."

"You...want _my_ help?" The youth stammered.

"I have a lot to carry."

"But you only brought one pack and..."

She peered over her shoulder to catch Gwen towing Merlin off into the woods by the sleeve. Lancelot stepped into the spot they'd occupied. She whipped back around, ignoring the icy shards pricking her heart. "Thank you for seeing to his burial. You may go."

"Morgana, I..."

"Please be silent." She couldn't bear to hear how much she'd disappointed him.

"I wanted to say...my heart..."

She abruptly stood and swung round. "Do you know I tried to kill Uther?"

Lancelot's mouth clacked shut and his eyes grew fearfully troubled.

"I wanted him dead. Him and his secrets and lies... You didn't know that, did you?"

"I didn't know," he answered breathlessly. She'd felt sure Merlin or Gwen would have told, but of course they kept her secret from him just as they had Arthur.

"Magic showed me his approval of torturing my father to death and... his demanding my mother kill me to hide his betrayal."

Lancelot's brow knit in confusion.

"I'm his child." She laughed snidely. "The great king Uther was my true father. I hated him for it. I took what life from him I could..." Morgana gasped and choked down a sob. Lancelot stared blankly as if he didn't know who she was. "Stay away from me. For the good of us both."

She staggered away back towards the camp. She thought maybe Lancelot might attempt to come after her, but no booted footsteps followed in her wake.

* * *

Arthur had intended to accompany Morgana and pay respects to the seer she'd said was responsible for setting her on the path that led to his salvation. She hadn't offered much more detail than that, and he hadn't pressed her. In truth, his head was still spinning. So much had happened in so short a time. He was more than willing to let Morgana divulge her own story in her own timing and not foist more information on his already overtaxed brain. When he'd left his tent and been accosted by Sir Lucan's reporting of an urgent issue he must attend to, he'd secretly been relieved to send Morgana ahead without him. Gwen and Merlin would be able to console her better than he.

"Report," Arthur addressed his knight.

Sir Lucan pointed to the edge of the camp. Iseldir, the Druid elder with the most authority, stood just within the woods. "He insisted on seeing you immediately. I thought you would wish to."

"I do," Arthur affirmed, heading towards the elder. Iseldir had met him halfway.

"I would like to speak with you privately," the Druid requested.

Arthur gestured to his left and they walked a little ways into the woods, out of earshot. He leaned his back against a tree and gazed on the elder with trepidation. "I honestly didn't think you'd return."

"We had much to discuss. We've been up all night talking of you and your possible Emrys. And the seer as well.

"Morgana?"

"Her appearance was unexpected. Seers are quite rare. These are wondrous days."

Arthur stifled a derisive snort and muttered under his breath. "That's not the word I'd choose."

The hint of a smile ghosted across Iseldir's lips. "Perhaps the wonder is just making itself known. Perhaps the Golden Prince and Emrys—and the Lady Morgana—will lead us into the time of renewal."

"Perhaps?"

"I cannot begin to assume what will happen to our people from this moment forward. You will cause a great schism among us, I fear, before all is said and done."

Arthur ran a rough hand through his blond locks. "Maybe it's better to have me done away with then." Ire over being attacked twice on a mission of peace had pushed its way to the forefront.

"It would be far easier to do away with you, yes."

Arthur bristled, hand moving instinctively towards his sword, which he had strapped back on before he left his tent and wasn't going to be forced to take off until they reached home.

"But I won't sanction such a thing. I will stop any plot against you I can ferret out."

"Because I'd retaliate," Arthur assumed.

"Because I have chosen you as my king." Iseldir was suddenly on the ground, bent on one knee. "You carry the burden of every man, woman, and child of your kingdom on your shoulders. I know the fear in the heart of a man with such a great weight, and your burden is a hundredfold mine. You fear you will cause pain. That you will fail and lose those you love and make choices that destroy others. I fear such outcomes even for myself, Arthur Pendragon. Maybe you will fail. Maybe I will fail. I must give you the same chance I give myself—to lead rightly and well."

Arthur couldn't breathe. Emotion had rushed to the surface and he barely blinked back tears.

Iseldir rose. "However, my choice is not my people's. Many of the remaining elders agree with me, yet most are cautious. Your fears revealed not just your heart but your potential. You could go as wrong as you fear. They are afraid, slow to trust. It will take much time to undo the damage your father did, and yes, you yourself. For some of them, I think the damage cannot ever be undone. There are those who will forever wish to see your blood spilled in retribution."

Arthur recovered his voice. "Mordred...Alvarr..."

"They have committed crimes of treason, I know. You are within your rights to demand their punishment. I ask that you let us judge them."

"What will you demand?" Arthur inquired, moving his hand from his sword hilt to the bandaged wound under his shirt, wondering if he'd be hounded by angry victims his entire life until he became an empty eyed corpse.

"We don't execute our people, but we can assure they will submit to us."

"I read about Druid courts in a book."

Iseldir nodded. "We had our own ways before your father forbade them. The Tiene Diaga was one of them." Iseldir smirked. "It was shrewd of Aglain to suggest the ritual to you. According to our sacred tradition, we could not deny your request to endure it. I should have guessed he'd find a way for us to see." He smiled, then continued. "We will use our magic to disable those we find to be a danger. You have my word we will search out those who mean to harm you and if we cannot persuade them otherwise, we will assure they never come for you."

Arthur shifted restlessly against the tree. "I suppose I would be safer if I leave them to you than lock them up in my dungeon."

"Then their fate is settled. I would also ask that you permit five of my people to accompany you back to your capital. If you wish us to trust you, you must let us be a part of what you intend to build. Aglain, of course, has insisted he come along as an elder representative, so they will not all be new to you."

Arthur's heart thrummed harshly. Druids. Walking down the streets of Camelot. Free and in plain sight of his people. Yes, he wanted this, and yet, it terrified him. Not all would welcome them even if this was the best path forward. He held out his hand. Iseldir hesitated only a second, then shared his wrist grip. "They will be under my direct care. If anyone dares harm them, they will face my personal judgment."

Iseldir gently shook his wrist. "Then we understand one another. These _are_ wondrous days I thought I would never see." Iseldir bowed his head and released him. "Until we meet again, my king." He moved away.

"Iseldir!" Arthur called before the man could disappear into the trees. The elder looked back. "Thank you."

Iseldir inclined his head. "Thank you. For showing us humility has come back to the Pendragon throne."

* * *

Merlin had returned to camp in Gwen's clutches, subjected all the way there to the girl's grumbling about the obliviousness of youthful boys and didn't he _want_ Morgana and Lancelot to make amends and how naive was he really. Oh. That was why she'd pulled him away. He'd just assumed since Morgana had showed up and saved Arthur, she and Lancelot would pick up from where they left off, right? Gwen had rolled her eyes.

"It isn't that simple," she'd said.

"Why not? He loves her and she loves him."

"Yes...but..." Her eyes had wandered to Arthur surrounded by knights, speaking instructions. "Relationships aren't easy, especially when you're not sure you can trust each other."

Merlin had stuck his hands on his hips. "You can trust Arthur, Gwen."

"I know that." She looked back at him. "Anyway, Lancelot and Morgana need time. Maybe a lot of it. Now go pack." She'd shooed him away with a flick of her fingers.

He'd hardly made any progress when he sighted Morgana emerging from the woods...without Lancelot. Gwen met her, they talked briefly, and then Gwen was hugging her. Lancelot appeared not too long after, though he exited from a different portion of the woods.

Merlin had continued checking Lebryt's saddle and pondering what was so troublesome his friends that had been so attached couldn't find it in themselves to love each other anymore.

"Merlin." Lancelot had walked his horse over to him. "Thought I'd ride with you."

"Shouldn't you ride with Morgana?" Merlin asked tentatively.

"No." The reply was harsh and final.

Merlin ran his fingers over Lebryt's saddle, sure Gwen would advise him to keep his trap shut for the time being, but he found he didn't care. Someone had to say it. "Morgana loves you."

Lancelot appeared skeptical. "You've spoken with her?"

"No, but, I mean, she always has right?"

Lancelot's lips pinched tight. "She committed treason."

Merlin cocked his head. "She saved Arthur..."

"She almost killed Uther."

Merlin remembered coming upon Morgana sucking the life out of Uther and his own desperate attempts to save the ailing king. Now he knew the truth—she had seen Uther was her father and she'd been deeply hurt. "You know why she did it?"

"She told me what her magic showed her."

"I stopped her."

Lancelot looked away, face clouded.

"But she didn't mean to," Merlin stated quickly. "She was angry."

"That doesn't excuse treason," Lancelot mumbled.

Merlin's hands twisted Lebryt's girth. He'd been upset with Morgana, too, how she could do something like that, destroy Arthur through grief, doom magic to an even worse reputation, but recent experience had exposed how prideful he'd been, thinking magic so easy to control just because at the time he could.

"You don't know what it's like," Merlin spoke quietly. "The magic just wants to do what it does sometimes and you can't help it. You can't stop feeling and it can't stop reacting and you hurt people without meaning to."

"Merlin, I didn't mean to imply you were like—"

Merlin spun on his heel to face the knight. "I _am_ like her." His magic spiked, shoving against his skin.

"Your actions weren't intentional."

"Hers weren't either! I thought you loved her. You don't really if you can't even forgive her." He broke away, running to towards the woods. Pretty soon he heard footsteps coming after him. He reeled around, intending to warn Lancelot off before he couldn't control the magic anymore only to find Arthur on his heels.

"I felt the—"

Merlin thrust his hand upwards and a resounding crack split the air at the same time a bright light flashed. He cradled his hand against his chest, trembling once more at his palm smarting and smoking. Arthur grabbed his wrists to inspect the damage. "I have salve."

Merlin met his eyes, breathing hard. "I can't go with you. I can't. I can't stop it. It will just keep happening. I have to stay here."

Arthur shook his head. "Iseldir came to see me. They're giving me a chance. He's sending some Druids to come with us back to Camelot."

Merlin's heart leaped into his throat. The Druids and Nimueh in Camelot. He could stay with Arthur. They could tutor him. He'd learn to control and use the magic and...

Arthur smiled. "Come on. Let's introduce you."

* * *

"Sire, your orders have been carried out," Sir Lucan reported.

Arthur finished securing his waterskin to Brenner's saddle and turned to the knight. "None of the men protested?"

Sir Lucan shook his head. "Though if they dared, they'd know I'd have their heads."

Arthur suppressed a smile. He'd wondered if there might be some resistance to the command they pay less heed to his safety and more to the Druids in their entourage. The five Druids had shown up not too long before, one unexpectedly a woman, middle aged, with a serious, glinting eye. He'd looked away from the penetrating gaze and Aglain had spoken to him quietly, informing him she was Iseldir's wife," _your_ judge and _his_ messenger." The elder sent his _wife_? Arthur had straightened his spine and tugged down his mail under her scrutiny.

"And Sir Percival?" Arthur asked.

"He'll shadow the sorceress." Sir Lucan nodded with his head and Arthur saw Percival talking to Nimueh. The former high priestess was gesturing wildly, he guessed protesting the insistence she be protected. True, she could pretty well protect herself, but he intended to send a clear message—this woman is under my official protection. You mess with her, you mess with the king. Nimueh broke off and began stamping his direction. Great.

"Sire?"

Arthur turned his attention back to Sir Lucan. "Yes?"

"You are our king. We have sworn to you our oaths and we will not abandon you."

Confused, Arthur tilted his head.

Sir Lucan cleared his throat. "What I saw...at those stones..."

Oh. Yes. In all the aftermath, Arthur hadn't thought much about who had viewed his fears right along with him. Lancelot, of course, and Sir Lucan, Jost and Arnott, Nimueh... Heavens. He'd exposed himself to so many, and he hadn't considered the effect it would have on them. He'd brought them all along just to bear witness to his act. He hadn't known they'd see everything just like the Druids.

"You must know, my lord, that we'll support your every step. We'll protect your kingdom even if we must follow you into hell to do it."

Arthur laid a hand on Sir Lucan's shoulder and gently shook it. "You can tell the elites, I trust every single one of them. But I don't want their blind allegiance. Let it be known any one of them may come to me personally and speak their thoughts without fear. And if they ever choose to leave my service, I will freely release them."

Sir Lucan's eyes misted, a sight Arthur had never beheld, and he gripped Arthur's arm. "I'll die for you if it is ever asked of me." The man bowed his head and moved away, coughing roughly into his fist.

"I have words to speak with you." Nimueh had reached him, hands on her hips, eyes afire like always.

Arthur stifled a sigh and spoke with a clipped tone. "Sir Percival has my orders and I will not change them."

Nimueh flicked her hand, brushing his explanation away. "Yes, yes. Unneeded, but I recognize the wisdom."

Well, this wasn't going the way he'd thought it would. "Then what has earned your ire _now_?"

"Emrys."

"Merlin?" Arthur searched the Druid contingent. They'd easily agreed to let the youth travel with them. They'd brought their own horses, three large and muscled, most likely work horses more accustomed to pulling carts. He wondered how many they even had. He hadn't noted any in the Druid camp he'd raided. They were giving up a valuable asset to their camps to come with him.

Arthur sighted Lebryt near the back and Merlin next to him, holding a treat to his muzzle. Nero had returned from his flight as well and perched on Merlin's shoulder, pecking at strands of his hair. Merlin laughed and lightly knocked his head into the bird. Strange how such mighty power resided inside someone as tender as Merlin.

"I advised him not to make you aware you could break your bond with him. He disregarded me. If you ever raise one finger against Emrys, I'll cut you down."

"Is this about my fear?" He could still see that horribly pale corpse, still feel its stiffness in his trembling arms.

"You know you can destroy him. And there may come a time you turn on him."

"I swear..."

"Your father turned on us all. You could as well. To pretend you could not is weakness and error. I will go with Emrys. I will teach him. And I will watch you." She twirled around and stalked away.

Arthur worked his jaw. He wasn't sure how he was coming out after the Teine Diaga. Some trust, some doubt, new allegiances, but many it seemed simply guarding against his potential fall. To make matters worse, he felt only too keenly his own inadequacy.

"My lord?"

Arthur sighed loudly. Couldn't he just get on his horse and back to Camelot and his room and hide under his coverlet, forget duty and burden and expectations and fears and drown his exhaustion in the dizziness of wine and sleep?

Arthur rolled his eyes when he faced Lord Arnott, with Jost not far behind, standing a couple meters back. "What is it?" he snapped.

Lord Arnott shifted his weight on his feet and wrung his hands.

"I won't discuss Merlin or Morgana or the Druids or any of it. I've made my decisions and I'm king." Heat bloomed across his face as he spoke. He should be dispassionate, the ideal king hiding his feelings, but hang it all, he was tired and his wound ached and he'd had it with the caustic counselor's continual rebuttals.

Arnott looked over his shoulder at a stone faced Jost, then back at him. "My lord, I do not wish you to fail." The man's voice was small. "Those things I said...I mean, the me in your vision...or fear..."

Right. The one where he'd beheld his kingdom a shambles, suffering the consequences for his own decisions. Arnott had taunted him from the citadel steps.

"I have never desired your failure."

Arthur looked into the distressed eyes of the man who had been his greatest antagonist since he'd become king and spoke honestly. "It often seems you do."

"Yes, my lord." Arnott's eyes studied the ground. "I have only wished to safeguard Camelot."

Arthur sighed. "That's all I want as well. Look at me."

Arnott raised his head.

"I value your openness. Speak frankly with me. But hear me, too. I want to trust you as did my father."

"I only heard when I agreed with him and I did not always speak freely with him. With you... I will hear and consider your words, my lord. Forgive my harshness."  
"You're forgiven. And your place on my counsel is secure. But we're going to have to change. All of us."

Arnott nodded slowly. "To right your father's wrongs."

Arthur raised his brows to hear the counselor admit such a thing. "Yes."

"I will do what I can in that regard."

"That's all I ask for."

"Yes, sire." Arnott bowed and moved away. Arthur caught Jost's eye. The man smiled and nodded and walked away with the lord.

Arthur leaned back against Brenner, chest tightening as he scanned his entourage, such a varied amalgam of people with varied levels of trust in him. Maybe he wasn't perfect. Maybe he'd make too many mistakes for his liking. But he wouldn't give up. He'd meet failure with quick confession and a willingness to be chastised for his wrongs. _My life is yours_ , he promised them. _I will do right by you or die trying._


	96. Together at Last, Part II

**Author's Note:** I posted chapters 95 and 96 at the same time, so make sure you've read 95 before this one!

* * *

Gwen hummed quietly to herself as she stirred. She felt alternately giddy and sad, and the tune kept her from dwelling too long on either emotion. She'd hoped Morgana and Lancelot would have mended quickly, but the rift between them had remained on the first day of travel back to the capital. She'd considered tracking down the knight and lecturing him, but her advice to Merlin shut down that avenue. It _was_ best they work out things on their own, but it didn't make it any easier watching them.

Footsteps approached and she felt a presence settle on the next log over. Her heart slammed into her ribs when she caught the telltale red shirt and the blond locks reflecting firelight. Just the man she'd been trying to avoid, the one that kept breaking into her thoughts and she kept harrying back. She had to resist cursing him for growing beyond himself and becoming a king she could follow. For continuing to love her when he should have stopped.

"A knight could have done this," Arthur said, pointing to a pot of stew.

"But not as well," she replied. She'd never been very good at doing nothing and had sought a way to make herself useful when they stopped for the night. She kept her eyes focused on the rotating spoon in the pot. _Don't say anything. Please don't say anything._

"Their cooking could never equal yours." His tone grew even softer, the same he'd used when he'd caressed her cheek or declared his devotion.

 _Don't do this!_ She begged inside, but spoke aloud, "I've had a lot of practice."

"You won't need to cook when we're back in Camelot."

Gwen closed her eyes. _Please, don't. Please._

"You were right about Morgana. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you."

"I forgive you," she whispered, opening her eyes to stare at the swirling liquid.

"You're wise and good, Guinevere. I've never stopped loving you. I'm king now. Magic will be free and we can..."

"Arthur," she breathed through a constricted chest, "don't ask me."

He moved from the log, kneeling at her side. She still wouldn't look at him, at his expression as he begged and pleaded. "I'm not who I was. You won't have to watch me kill innocents. I won't be my father."

Gwen withdrew the spoon from the stewpot. "I can't let you love me." Her chin trembled.

"But I do love you."

She finally turned to him, steadying her voice to speak clearly so he'd understand. "You _are_ king, and this means your people are of more concern than I will ever be." He opened his mouth and she gently laid her fingers against his lips to stop him. "You'll have to do what's best for them."

"You're best for them."

She shook her head and her breath hitched. "You know as well as I a king's marriage is vital to his kingdom. You still have enemies and you'll need even greater friends. I've heard what they say at court. There are those who will provide allegiance through your marriage."

"I don't want that, Gwen." His hand pulled the spoon from her grasp, and he clasped her hands, eyes wetting.

Her heart broke. "We can't always have what we want."

"Is what I want really that wrong?"

She nodded. "Yes, Arthur. You can't dishonor everything you've done for your people by loving me." She squeezed his hands. "They need all of you and it's right to give them that. We can't ever be and I think you know that even if you won't let yourself see it."

"Gwen, please..."

"I let you go, Arthur. Find someone more worth giving your heart to." She walked away. Only then did she allow the tears to fall.

* * *

Lancelot had offered his help wherever he could in setting up camp, even aiding where he didn't usually, fighting an inner battle. The light that had been his beloved had been darkening since the day he'd been told Morgause was Morgana's sister, but it hadn't been snuffed out. He'd doubted her intention, mourned her loss, yet still hoped for a miraculous restoration. And just when he'd thought she _was_ restored to him, she'd revealed the worst truth of all—she had attacked Uther with her own hands, had wanted him dead.

How could she? Yes, Uther had done wrong. Yes, he got what he deserved in the end, but at _her_ hands? He'd imagined Uther would meet a bad end from Morgause or the dragon or the Druids or some enemy he'd wronged, but not from the girl who though she'd argued with him had always been above reproach.

Lancelot paused. He'd tried to take a long walk alone, clear his head and shun the sight of the woman he'd once loved... Still loved? He saw Arthur sitting alone before a fire, stirring vigorously at a—stew? He wandered over and sat down next to him. "Isn't that someone else's work?"

Arthur shot back a terse reply. "A king has the right to stir his own stew if he wants."

"I suppose...I thought you'd be happier. Everything has turned out the way you wanted."

"Not everything."

Yes. There had been Mordred after all. "Does the wound still hurt?"

Arthur shrugged. "I'll get over it... Have you spoken to Morgana?"

"I... _tried_..."

"Don't waste time. You'll lose her if you wait too long."

Lancelot's jaw stiffened. "Did she tell you about your father?"

Arthur stirred more slowly. "She told you she's my sister."

"And that she was angry and meant to kill him."

"Yes, I know."

"And you forgave her?"

Arthur turned to him, eyebrows crawling upwards in surprise. "And you haven't? As I recall, you quite clearly informed me my father deserved to die."

Lancelot picked up a twig and flung it into the fire, hearing a satisfying pop. "I meant he deserved to suffer his consequences. From Morgause and angry Druids...not _her_."

"Did you ever want your own father dead?"

Lancelot jerked his attention to Arthur staring at him with too much insight. "I never tried to kill him."

"But you did consider it?"

Lancelot picked up another stick, cupping it in both hands and running his thumbs over it, unwillingly remembering being thrown into a wall, a booted heel crushing down again and again on his right calf until he heard a sickening snap and screamed, blinded by white hot pain. "Maybe...but I never..."

"We're not all as honorable as you," Arthur stated, turning away to the stew.

"I'm not..."

"You've always been the most honorable man I've known, ever since you bent the knee to me. You went to Ealdor after Merlin with me, you resigned your knighthood to keep from killing innocents, you secretly followed me all over the place anyway, you've spoken truth directly to my face, and you even chose your vow to me over her."

"I've just tried to do what's right."

"Then forgive her. It's right."

"I swore myself to you, not her."

Arthur removed the spoon from the stew and pointed it at him, liquid flicking off its end as he shook it. "The fear you saw? I don't fear you choosing her over me. I feared having to cause you pain, having to cause _myself_ pain. Feared her showing up and having to cast judgment on her, but it's not going to happen that way after all. It was only a fear, not something that had to be.

"I command you to choose her. If it's between her or me, I want you to pick her every time. I won't be the obstacle that keeps you from her. Your vow to me lasts as long as it doesn't interfere with her interests." Arthur suddenly thrust the spoon into his hand. "You're right. This isn't my responsibility. You do it."

Lancelot stared dumbly as his king rose and marched away.

* * *

Merlin looked up in surprise when Arthur appeared, flinging out a bedroll next to his.

"I'm bedding down here tonight," he announced snappishly, lying down on his back and yanking a blanket up under his chin.

"Eh...Are you okay?" Merlin asked, rolling his head to contemplate the king.

Arthur slid his hands behind his head and glared at the twinkling dark sky. "Every time I think everything will work out it doesn't."

"Yeah."

Arthur turned concerned eyes on him. "Difficult day?"

Merlin sighed. "Aglain and Nimueh. They kept discussing how to 'train the great Emrys.'" Merlin's imitation of Nimueh's haughty speech made Arthur chuckle and Merlin smiled, too. "It's good. It really is, it's just... I don't know if I can be what they want me to be."

"Me either, Merlin. Tomorrow we reach the gates and I'm towing Druids, a former high priestess, Morgana, you... I don't know how any of this is really going to turn out."

"You're doing the right thing."

Arthur chuckled again.

"What?"

"I just told someone else that. Knowing I am doesn't make it any easier to feel confident, does it?"

Merlin pondered the bright stars in the clear velvet night. "It doesn't."

"When there is no other choice, march forward with your banner held high," Arthur recited.

"Knight's code."

"There's no way but forward now."

"Yeah."

"Tomorrow, I want you to ride next to me through the gates. My brother at my side."

Merlin looked back at Arthur whose eyes were closed. "Of course, Arthur. I'll be right there."

The king smiled, then rolled over on his side to readjust. Merlin traced a constellation. Knowing their luck, it wouldn't all work out exactly the way they wanted. There'd be more trouble and hurt to come. But whatever they faced, they'd do it together, brothers side by side.

* * *

The second day's travel elapsed without incident, though Arthur was fully aware of the shock and amazement on each subject's expression as they passed. When the wall surrounding the capital loomed ahead, Arthur reigned in his horse at the front and looked to Morgana on his right. He'd insisted she ride with him just as Merlin on the last leg of the journey. She plastered a cocky smile on her face to hide the nervousness he perceived nonetheless. "You're a princess of Camelot by rights," he reminded her.

The smile dissolved even though she lifted her chin. "Only your half sister and a bastard."

"That doesn't matter to me and it's my declaration that reigns. You will be accepted."

Her green eyes met his, and she dropped all pretense, shame coloring her gaze. "I don't deserve this."

"I deserved execution and the Druids spared me. Perhaps we should just be grateful for mercy."

Arthur turned in Brenner's saddle towards the lanky, pure-hearted youth quickly becoming a man on his left. Merlin appeared even more nervous than Morgana. He would enter Camelot for the first time without restriction or inhibition on his magic, no longer keeping the secret he'd spent his whole life protecting. Arthur would do his utter best to defend the youth, but each of them suspected he'd be a target of suspicion and derision for some time.

"No fear, Merlin," he spoke reassuringly.

"I'm not afraid."

Arthur looked at him from under his brows.

"All right, just a little."

Arthur smiled and replied quietly. "Truth be told, so am I." He glanced back at the entourage, confirming the knights rode aside the Druids. Lancelot was among them. Percival had remained with Nimueh as ordered. As he turned back around, his gaze passed Gwen, riding to the right and a horse's step behind her mistress. Their eyes locked, but she promptly averted her gaze. A lancing pain struck his heart, but he faced the gates and straightened in his saddle seat. That avenue was forever closed to him. He would hone his focus on his kingdom and its people alone from this moment forward.

"Open the gates!" he commanded. The enormous wooden doors swung wide.

The entourage trotted up the main lane. People at work paused to watch them pass with various expressions, most concealed by a dip of the head. There were shouts of joy at their king's return, submissive curtsies and bows, and inevitably, murmurs and hissing whispers accompanied by fingers pointing at Morgana, at the Druids and Nimueh, even some directed at Merlin in his honored position next to the king. Still, no one seemed more than curious or confused. Maybe they'd reach the citadel without incident after all. And then he heard a raucous shouting.

Up ahead, on the edge of the common market, a crowd of about a dozen men and women were raising their fists and chanting. Several knights had formed a barrier in front of them. Arthur halted.

"Stay here," he commanded loudly, then rode on alone. A knight broke off, Leon he could tell by the gait. He swung out of his saddle.

"My lord," Leon greeted with a slight bow. "We are glad to see you return."

Arthur eyed the crowd. "We?"

"Most of your subjects," Leon admitted wearily, "but not all."

"Friend of sorcery!" someone shouted.

"I don't know how they heard about the order for the ban's lifting," Leon grumbled. "When I find the wagging tongue..."

"There are Druids with the king!" a woman's shrill voice screeched, pointing at the entourage.

"And a witch!" another cried. More voices joined in the fray.

"Things had been quiet until this morning. They've been here all day, scaring everyone."

The crowd had taken up a shout of "To the pyre!" Arthur resisted a gasp when a double heartbeat thumped in his chest. He whipped around to glare at Merlin sending several messages with his eyes he hoped the warlock got— _I'm fine_ and _let me deal with this_ and _don't make me come over there to calm you down._ Merlin must have understood as his eyes screwed shut and the heartbeat faded to a whisper.

"These Druids are under my protection!" Arthur declared as he marched up to the crowd and gestured the knights back.

"Sire?" Leon asked at his elbow.

"Pull them back."

Leon shouted orders and the knights withdrew. Arthur scanned the crowd, which had quieted, though their wrath remained etched on their faces. He had hoped his first public test as king might come later, that he'd be granted time to recover before facing the unavoidable push back against the most monumental change to come upon his people since his father outlawed magic. He'd have to do this right and make it count, but how?

"Who leads you?" Arthur questioned as calmly as he could. If he could deal with the leader like he had when Elyan charged against the citadel, maybe he could carry off the same miracle as before.

A man stepped forward, tall and imposing. "Me, sire."

Arthur planted himself in front of the man. "What is your name?"

"Hewlin."

"Hewlin. Speak your grievance. What do you want of me?"

"I..." The man stuttered in surprise, clearly not expecting his king to inquire after his desire instead of ordering an arrest. "To keep sorcery out of our land."

"Why?"

"My lord...it is wicked."

"What if I could demonstrate not all magic is wicked?"

"Everyone knows magic corrupts. Sorcerers cannot live amongst us."

"And if I could prove these with me are good and they bring no harm?"

Hewlin briefly peered over his shoulder at the now silent crowd and received encouragement from bobbing heads. "Druids and witches bear dark souls. Evil is their nature."

Arthur sighed inside but empathized wholly. Such had been his own assumptions for so long, and it had taken multiple people and several years for him to change. He would open the door of change for his own people right now.

"Tomorrow!" Arthur shouted. "I invite Hewlin and any who feel as he to the courtyard. I will hear each of you. In return, I ask you to hear me."

Hewlin snorted.

"Speak what you will," Arthur confronted the man.

"Begging your pardon, sire, but you'll just do what you want anyway like your father always did."

Someone in the crowd gasped at the confrontational statement, and a woman scuttled out of the crowd to stand at Hewlin's side. She quickly curtsied. "Forgive my husband, sire, I beg you."

"Rhea," Hewlin hissed.

"He doesn't know what he's saying. Please, don't punish him."

Arthur stared at the woman for a moment, sensing her palpable fear. If anyone had dared speak such to his father, they would have been hauled to the dungeon for certain and possibly spent time in the stocks or even been lashed. He hadn't been the only one to suffer at the hands of his father. They all had, every person in Camelot who believed his father's lies whether out of genuine agreement or the desire to survive a harsh and wrathful king. If they had seen the Teine Diaga, they would have understood he was just as fearful as them and simply a man trying to rule in the best interest of all.

Leon had stepped back up to his side. Arthur looked to him. His first knight was impassive, but his eyes bore a question, even he wondering what Arthur might do. How would he pass _this_ test? Arthur recalled speaking with Leon in the hallway after his vigil for his father when he'd been awed by the knights who'd chosen to stand as his seconds. The first knight had explained Arthur had kept them from killing their own, that the story of how he'd stopped the rebellion and suffered for it had spread throughout the city, and people knew he was on their side. Gods, didn't they believe he still was?

Arthur considered Hewlin and his wife. His people had heard of his punishment for preventing the rebellion, but they hadn't seen it. The Teine Diaga had exposed him utterly to those who had stood around the circle of stones. Maybe now was the time for him to completely bare himself to his people as well.

Arthur's hands went to the belt buckle at his waist. The woman began to cry, but Hewlin stood with his chest puffed out, a willing martyr for the punishment he probably thought he was about to receive. When Arthur signaled Leon to help him out of his armor, the woman quieted and the crowd mumbled. The armor divested, he worked out of his mail, which another knight took in hand. The arming coat came next and finally, Arthur pulled his shirt over his head, standing bare and exposed before the crowd.

He turned slowly round so the crowd could get a thorough look, catching the pointing and murmuring caused by the six scars that remained from the whipping he'd endured under his father's orders. He faced Hewlin once more. "I vow to you, and to all in my kingdom, never will a man, woman, or child be treated unfairly again. You will never be punished for speaking your concerns to me." His pitch rose. "But I ask you all to afford me the same respect I offer you. Present your grievances rather than shout them in the streets. Come before me tomorrow in the courtyard mid-morning. I will meet with you and I _will_ listen to you."

"Yes...sire," Hewlin muttered in astonishment.

Arthur moved back to Brenner, brushing off the knight who offered his shirt back to him and observing illuminated pride in Leon's eyes. He swung into his saddle, kicking his heels into the steed and riding forward with his back on display for all to see.

* * *

When the entourage reached the courtyard, everyone could have heard a needle pinging onto the cobbles, it was so silent. Servants stopped and stared; knights milling about went to their knees. Arthur ignored them all, dismounting and immediately issuing orders.

Morgana alighted from her own horse, hardly daring to breathe, shaken by what she'd just witnessed. Arthur wasn't the child she'd played with anymore or the youth she'd teased or the young man she bandied words with. For the first time in her life, she'd beheld Arthur as a true noble king, and more shocking than that, she'd thought him a man she could follow and die for. One look at Merlin revealed his own beaming reaction to Arthur's display. The boy's loyalty had been greatly rewarded in the end, simply by Arthur becoming what Merlin had always wanted him to be.

"My lady." Gwen had left her own horse and wrapped an arm around Morgana's right elbow.

"Gwen." Arthur stopped speaking with the servants and knights to address her maidservant. "If she wants for anything, get it for her, no matter the cost."

"Yes, sire," Gwen replied humbly.

"And Morgana. We'll take dinner tonight together?"

Morgana smiled and nodded. Gwen pulled her towards the castle steps. She paced slowly, drinking in every inch of the citadel. "I'm home, Gwen. Truly home. I never thought to see it again."

"Sir Gwaine!"

Gwen and Morgana glanced back at Arthur's shout. He stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at Gwaine who had apparently just entered the courtyard from a side door, his arm twined around a girl and his lips locked onto hers.

"Who is that?" Morgana inquired.

Gwen grinned. "The girl who has magic. I guess Gwaine has gotten to know her." Her cheeks flushed.

Arthur had stomped up to the knight. "You think this appropriate?" He had probably meant to scold the man quietly, but the attempted whispered words echoed around the courtyard, magnified.

"Hey, my lord, you've returned. Are those Druids?" Gwaine replied.

"Gwaine," Arthur threatened with a growl.

"What are you doing out of armor?"

Arthur towered over him and the knight abruptly pulled the girl tighter into his side. "I said to watch over her, not..." Arthur motioned at him in exasperation. "Snog her in front of the world!"

"Oh. Yeah. Erm. Soooo..." Gwaine ran his free hand through his hair and Sefa spoke so softly Morgana barely caught her reply.

"Sir Gwaine requested my hand, my lord." The girl curtsied best she could in Gwaine's embrace. "My father accepted."

Arthur stared at Gwaine, openmouthed.

"Yeah," Gwaine said. "You know, I just thought, to hell with wasting time. I'm not getting any younger. We waited for you to come back, though, before the wedding."

Gwen gasped at the knight's boldness, then giggled. Morgana's emotions betrayed themselves, her eyes seeking out Lancelot before she could restrain them. He was staring right at her. She jerked her gaze away. Sir Percival had joined his king and was grinning from ear to ear at his friend.

"How'd you get hurt?" Gwaine asked, but before Percival could launch into an explanation for his wounded hand, Elyan emerged from the same door Gwaine had, looking chagrined.

"Gwaine!" Elyan cried, then seeing Arthur, stalled in his tracks, eyes darting between the king and his friend with his arm snugly clutching the girl at his side. Elyan came to attention. "My lord, you're back. I apologize. I told him to stop displaying his affections in every alcove in the citadel." He glared at Gwaine.

Arthur shook his head in exasperation, but it looked like he might also be trying to suppress a smile. "I suppose Gwaine being so free means I still have a kingdom."

"Yes. We've made great progress," Elyan reported.

"Tell me." Arthur beckoned the two knights to join the group he'd been addressing before Gwaine had interrupted with his irreverent romance. The roguish knight pecked another kiss on the girl's lips, then clasped her hand and pulled her along with him.

Gwen tugged gently at Morgana and they climbed the front steps. Morgana marveled at the halls and rooms and statues as if seeing them for the first time. She'd once considered the castle her enemy, a cold dwelling compared to the home she'd shared with her father. Now it felt like a dead friend brought suddenly back to life, one she'd come to realize she could never live without. When she reached her room, she hesitated to step inside, and when she managed it, found the chamber exactly as she'd left it.

"I kept it as you like it," Gwen said.

"Gwen..." She choked on the thank you.

The girl patted her elbow. "You're welcome, my lady."

"Don't call me that. You're my friend, Gwen. Just call me Morgana."

Morgana's elation couldn't banish her exhaustion. Back in a comfortable and safe space, her body began to make its pains felt, the aching muscles, bruises from being knocked about here and there, and mental fatigue. She shuffled towards her dressing screen to remove her dress dirtied and torn from her ordeal and prepare to bathe, to wash away the marks of the last few weeks. She'd just reached the screen when thumping footfalls and a clatter at her door caused her to look back. Lancelot stood in the doorway, hand still clutching the door handle.

"Sir Lancelot," she spoke slowly. "I must bathe. If you would excuse me..."

He crossed the room in three steps, wound his hands around her waist, and pulled her into him, his lips finding hers. A taste of salt and earth tingled her tongue echoed by the familiar scent of sweat and metal and leather. Her heart raced, her breaths slowed. Her back, stiffened when he'd grabbed her, melted into his grasp, and her palms flattened against his chest resonated with the pounding of his pulse. She hardly heard the door to the room shut. Lancelot released her. She swayed and he swept her into his arms, carrying her over to the fourposter. He gingerly laid her down and she gazed up at him, dazed.

"I love you," he proclaimed. "My heart has always been yours. I want to... I mean to say... If you'll have me..."'

Morgana pressed a hand under her ribs, her breath hitching and her reply coming out breathy. "If?"

Lancelot bowed his head. "The things I thought, what I did to you, what I didn't do for you... _I'm_ the one not good enough for _you_." He briskly rubbed at his forehead. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come...I..." He rotated on his heel, but she snatched his wrist.

"Stay! I love you."

He turned back, eyes wide with hope and abnormally glazed.

Questions tumbled out of her mouth. "You don't care what I did? Who I am?"

Lancelot leaned down to cup her cheeks between his wonderfully calloused hands. "I want all of you. Every part of your life is precious to me. I promise I'll never mistrust you again."

Morgana's eyes welled.

"Marry me, Morgana," he breathed out, "and I'll never leave your side."

She grasped his shoulders, pulling him towards her, melding their lips once more. She let her tongue play over his teeth and tugged at his bottom lip before pulling away.

His chest heaved and he strained out, "Does that mean―"

"Yes."

His knee pressed into the mattress and he momentarily loomed over her. She reached up as he came closer, raking her hands through his hair, and savored his mouth dancing over more than her lips.

* * *

Merlin had meant to wait around for Arthur, but the man was swarmed with people and peppered with questions about the outcome of his mission. The itch to see Gaius had overwhelmed him and he'd taken off. Nimueh had come after him. The whole ride home she'd acted like some kind of guard, and he grumbled under his breath. What could go wrong now? They were back in the citadel, Arthur was safe, and nothing that might upset him lurked around the castle corners.

He practically flew down the corridors, Nimueh complaining behind him, but he didn't care. The last time he'd left, he'd been toting a travel bag stuffed with his most prized possessions and setting out for Ealdor in sheets of rain while Arthur sat vigil over his father's corpse. He'd anticipated a return then, but of a much different kind, either kneeling at Arthur's feet and trying desperately to explain the prophecy or Arthur refusing to hear him and having to face killing the man. Merlin's mouth went dry at the thought. _Could_ he have killed Arthur? _Would_ he have killed Arthur?

Merlin shook off his thoughts. Didn't matter anymore. Things had turned out as well as could be after all. He bounced up the spiral staircase two steps at a time, rushed down the hall, and threw open the door to Gaius' chamber.

"Gaius!"

The old physician was sitting at their dinner table across from a boy that appeared to be quite a bit younger than he with a long face and tousled hair. Must be a new patient, though he didn't appear too sick.

"Merlin." Gaius leaped up and hobbled as fast as his legs could carry him, then crushed him so close, Merlin could barely breathe. "My boy...my boy..."

Merlin patted Gaius on the back as the man continued to squash him. When he let go, Merlin sucked in a huge recovering breath, beaming. "It's all okay now."

Gaius peered over his shoulder and spoke cautiously. "Nimueh."

"Gaius," the former high priestess greeted, striding into the chamber and surveying its contents. "Nothing's changed all these years, has it?"

"Much has changed," Gaius protested.

"But you're still the same in your ways." She gestured as she noted each similarity. "Herbs hanging to dry in alphabetical order, books on your shelf arranged by subject, your staff propped in the corner, even the blanket on your cot is the same and threadbare thin." Her eyes softened as much as Nimueh's could. "We used to share our knowledge. Stories. News. We even laughed sometimes."

Gaius' posture relaxed. "We did."

"Now that I have taken Emrys under my tutelage, maybe we will again."

Gaius cocked his right eyebrow. "And what will you teach him?"

Nimueh waved a hand, brushing away the concern in Gaius' tone. "I'm not going to turn him into a high priestess, but our philosophies are sound."

"Your philosophies were often questionable."

Nimueh snorted. "Only because you stunted yourself with fear."

"Your sisters' greed pushed you to dig too deep in..."

"Please don't argue," Merlin sighed. "Please, Gaius? I spent all the way here listening to her and Aglain argue over my training,"

"Aglain? Lancelot's Druid?"

Merlin bobbed his head eagerly. "Arthur brought back Druids. They're going to live here and aid us and everyone's going to see magic is good."

Gaius smiled in wonder. "I thought it would be harder for them to accept our king."

"Yeah, well, they didn't at first. Some of them tried to kill him and then he decided to do this ritual and he didn't tell _me_ and..."

Gaius was staring at him with rounded eyes.

Merlin laughed. "I'll put my stuff in my room then tell you everything!" He jogged to the steps that led to his room.

"Merlin!" Gaius called out, but he'd already climbed the steps and opened the door...to find all his belongings gone. Every single last one. His papers, his collections of rocks and birds' eggs, the aloe he'd been growing in a chipped cup. His bookshelf was empty, his parchments missing, even the desk Gaius had gifted him vanished, leaving a blank wall behind. The bed was the same, draped with the simple gray blanket, and the wardrobe, but he guessed that were he to open it, he'd find his clothes absconded with, too.

"Eh...That's my room," a voice he'd never heard called out.

Merlin backed down the steps, his pack slipping off his shoulder and dangling from his hand as he looked at the younger boy who had been sitting at the table now standing. "Your room? But where are―" Words failed him.

"Haven't you spoken to Arthur?" Gaius asked.

Merlin shook his head.

"He asked Sir Leon to find a new boy to aid me. This is Daegal."

Daegal nodded and smiled. "Gaius talks about you a lot. I hope I can be as good as you were for him."

 _Were?_ Merlin felt a flash of hate for the boy. Aid Gaius? Hadn't he been doing that? Gaius was _his_ guardian. The magic flared and Merlin tumbled backwards into the steps, fumbling, his backside smarting as it connected with hard stone. He'd stopped Gaius from careening down these steps his first day here. His eyes began to water and burn.

"Merlin, I don't think you understand..." Gaius began.

"Out of the way." Nimueh was there, kneeling in front of him. "Ermys. The pain. Shut it down."

"I...can't..." Merlin muttered through clenched teeth.

"You can. Find the door to your soul and close it."

Merlin shook. She'd told him these things already, so had Aglain, but he hadn't quite understood. What door? Where? It was all analogy and symbol and how could track down some imaginary door?

"Where's Merlin?"

Merlin's heart leaped. Arthur's voice, and with it, a sudden pathway. He could almost see an incorporeal road swirling around his insides. Gaius was talking all over himself explaining what had happened and Arthur was there at his side.

"Why didn't you wait for me?" Arthur grasped his shoulders and lightly shook them. "Prat. Why do you always jump to conclusions? Your things aren't here because you won't be living in this room anymore. I've had a chamber prepared for you near mine." The pathway led to a door, and Merlin slammed it shut.

Nimueh grinned. "Well done, Emrys."

Merlin shook residually. " A chamber?"

"Come on."

* * *

Arthur, clothed in a red shirt again, guided him to a corridor jutting out from a short landing and across from the hallway that led to the king's room. Arthur had waved Nimueh off, insisting there was no danger. He didn't anticipate Merlin getting upset again, at least for a while. When Arthur stopped at a door and pushed it open, Merlin balked. The chamber was nearly as large as Arthur's, divided into three distinct areas identifiable by their furniture―a couple of padded chairs in front of a fireplace, a large table next to three diamond patterned windows, and a fourposter bed with a changing screen set up beside it. All his things were here, too, set about the room in various places.

"I had them bring your desk. I thought to replace it, but Gaius provided it for you and I thought you'd want it."

Arthur tugged at his traveling bag and Merlin let it fall into the king's hands. Arthur dug around in it and produced the small carving of Kilgharrah his father had made. He'd shown it to Arthur on the way back when the king made conversation with Balinor. Arthur had been impressed with the artistry and the symbolic meaning, the dragon who had sacrificed himself for a better Camelot. The king crossed the room and set the figurine on the desk. "Do you know I have one your father made?"

Merlin frowned, then his brows flew upwards, recalling the wooden figure he'd seen in Arthur's rooms. "The one on _your_ desk?"

Arthur nodded. "He told me he gave it to my mother when he came to the citadel once...before the Purge."

Merlin shook his head in disbelief, amazed he'd spent all that time copying at Arthur's desk and something his own father had made rested only inches from his fingers.

"And...erm...I have something here I need you to copy. Right away."

Merlin ambled over toward the desk. "I thought I wasn't your scribe anymore."

"Just this last document. You can do it quickly."

"Arthur," Merlin said when he stopped before the desk. "Just...for all this..."

"Yes, you're eternally grateful. Get to it." He pointed at the document next to the ink well and quills that had been his gift for Merlin's fifteenth birthday.

Merlin picked the parchment up, curious what Arthur would need so immediately and his heart stuffed into his throat at the title: _Agreement of Wardship_.

"I had it drawn up while I was away. It won't be official until you sign it. If you don't like how any of it's worded, we can change it. It's mostly my legal obligations anyway. There are _some_ things you'll have to do, commit to my service until you come of age, agree I have rights over your welfare and education, and I added some things about overseeing future land holdings. But like I said, you should read it before..."

Merlin snatched a quill, dipped it in the inkwell, and deftly scratched his scripted name at the bottom of the parchment. He held it out to Arthur.

Arthur grinned as he took it, and Merlin grabbed him in a fleeting embrace, not too long, after all, he wasn't twelve anymore. "Thank you, Arthur. Thank you."

Arthur hesitated, and then returned the hug briefly, clapping him firmly on the back. "You might not be so grateful in the end. You're wholly mine now. We've got swordsmanship and archery and the lance..." He pinched the muscle of his upper arm. "Way more rocks to lift. And I'm sure if I ask Morgana, she'll come up with an educational plan to rival any tutor I ever had."

Merlin felt a groan coming, but he snuffed it out, and simply nodded once. "Whatever you want. I'm ready. I'll do it all."

Arthur's Adam's apple bobbed and he coughed, Merlin knew to cover his emotion. He inhaled a deep breath and his eyes twinkled. "I have one more thing to show you."

* * *

Arthur paced down a city street, unarmored and unafraid, his warlock and ward at his side. People they passed stopped to acknowledge him with awe or reverence. So, baring himself before them had been the right decision after all. It had really been impulsive that. He wondered how much of his ruling would turn out to be thinking up things on the fly.

A whitewashed house came into view. It had been vacant since the last occupier passed a couple weeks or so ago. It was humble, in the lower town, but its new owners had insisted they not be given anything more luxurious. They were humble people of humble means and they wanted to live simple lives. Arthur respected them too much to argue. He stopped at the door. "Why don't you knock?"

Merlin tilted his head quizzically. The youth had become wary when he'd refused to reveal any information regarding their destination, but he still bent a knuckle and tapped lightly. Footfalls sounded inside, and the door opened.

"My lord," a man bowed his head and then smirked.

"Father?" Merlin questioned in surprise.

Balinor clapped a hand on the youth's shoulder. "You told him about the wardship?"

Arthur nodded. "He signed it without even reading it."

Balinor cocked his head at Merlin. "Not exactly the wisest decision. Always read what you agree to, but I suppose we can let it pass this time."

Merlin gazed in wonder at Arthur.

"I asked your parents about the wardship before I left Ealdor and they agreed."

"Merlin?" a woman's voice called from inside the house. Arthur couldn't suppress a chuckle at Merlin's expense when the youth gaped and pushed past his father into the house. Arthur followed to see Hunith leaving the plain wooden table adorned with a meal to gather her son in her arms.

"Mother," Merlin whispered, head bowed into her shoulder as she held him.

"You're home. You're all right."

"Home?" Merlin asked, looking up.

She smiled. "Camelot." She inclined her head towards the door. "King Arthur. It took some discussion, but he convinced me to leave Ealdor, to live here with..." Her loving eyes moved to the lanky man at his side. "Your father."

"Together," Merlin breathed.

"Yes," Hunith said, letting him go. "Like it was always supposed to be." She gestured to the table. "Now, before everything I worked so hard to provide goes cold..."

Balinor took a seat on the far side near the hearth, Hunith joining him. Merlin glanced at Arthur, and the joyful euphoria in those shining blue eyes was worth everything Arthur had ever suffered for the boy. Arthur thumped him on the back and pushed him towards the table. Merlin sat across from his mother and Arthur settled in next to him.

As the food was passed around the table, and Hunith asked after their mission, and Merlin and Balinor began to alternate their storytelling, Arthur kept quiet. He silently ate his fill and listened and basked in the glow of people he had come to love deeply and well, and suddenly realized he possessed something he'd only ever dreamed of―a proper family after all...

* * *

Morgause sighted the entrance to the cave. She'd spent more time than she intended with the Dochraid, but she had learned much. Once she had access to magic again, everything would change. She would gather her allies, take the rogue Druids into her service, and punish the Pendragon scourge on the land.

"High priestess!" a voice cried when she'd hardly taken two steps into the dark dwelling. The girl Kara came running to her, a worried expression drawing down her brows. "We were afraid you wouldn't return."

"I'm here and all is well." Morgause smiled. Kara didn't look relieved.

"Kara!" a voice shouted. Mordred marched towards them, purpose in his step, determination in his eyes, surprising her with a confidence she hadn't yet beheld in the boy. "Let me talk to her."

Kara stepped back, turning to nod once at Mordred and retreating back into the cave. Morgause narrowed her eyes. "You dare to command my people?"

" _My_ people."

"Yours?" Morgause cackled.

"They have sworn allegiance to me."

"Oh have they?" she taunted.

"Morgana's gone."

Her heart stuttered, her derision vanished.

"She's gone back to Arthur Pendragon."

Morgause raised a hand, preparing to slap the boy for his vicious lie, but the gravity in his eye accompanied by a hint of sorrow stilled her hand. "She wouldn't."

"He's tricked her. He's tricked them all. They all think he's their great golden savior." The words were bitter.

"Who thinks this?"

"The elders. Most of them. They held a parley with him."

"Why would they?"

"He says he's lifting the ban on magic."

"He..." Her face grew hot. "Is that why Morgana's...g-gone back to him?" The betrayal cutting through her caused a stutter. Her sister...her only reason for living...No.

"She believes him," Mordred spat. "And it's all a lie. He's going to lure them all in and destroy them."

Her plans. All these years, every waking moment, developing a strategy and strengthening her resolve until the perfect moment presented itself. She'd see the Pendragons headless and save her sister from their clutches. She'd restore the Isle and the high priestesses and every land in the Five Kingdoms would be in her debt. She'd imagined it, tasted it, lusted for it, and Arthur Pendragon was just going to take it away from her? Take her sister? The life she was owed? His kingdom was supposed to be under _her_ thumb and shaped by _her_ will!

Morgause latched onto Mordred, clutched a hand behind his head, and knocked his forehead into hers. He squirmed, she kicked at his knees. As he went down, she did, too, leaning over him and chanting in harsh, deep tones a language guttural and ancient.

"What are you doing to me?" he hissed.

The world swirled and spun, dipped and rose, and a tunnel cracked inside her skull. It slithered into the mind of the boy, pierced and dug, then pulled. She heard his heart pattering in terror, felt his skin puckering in fear, tasted the bile flooding up his throat. She chanted faster, he resisted, she cried louder, he went limp. The patter gave way to booming drumbeats and a rushing river sloshed blood through thrumming veins. She screamed the last words the Dochraid had taught her and pitched onto her back as her world exploded in utter brightness and her ears buzzed and rang. Her fingers itched. She fought for sight, the light faded. She held her hand in front of her eyes and white sparks showered from her fingertips.

Mordred groaned and she forced herself to sit up and peer down on the boy, dazed and unfocused, saliva dribbling from his mouth.

"Wha... Can't... Where?" he sputtered nonsensically.

Morgause breathed, in―out, in―out, the magic pulsed, like a strange heart beat within her that wasn't her own. She smirked down at the boy, but grabbed his hand to pull him upright. He tumbled into her and she braced her arms around his shoulders.

" _We_ are magic, Emrys, boundless and infinite. Together we will take back what has been stolen from us. And Arthur Pendragon will not prevail." She clasped his head in her hands and met his disoriented gaze. "Come. There is much work to be done."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thus ends Year 4! Everything has changed. Year 5, the final year, we'll see if our new triumverate-Arthur, Merlin, Morgana-can lead Camelot forward into the Golden Age. Some things to expect from the coming year: Will's return, Mithian, Excalibur, Lamia, dragons, monsters, and a growing threat.

I will be posting chapters as soon as I can for Year 5. I am currently working on an original story that I want to finish by June, so I will also be finishing that up. I've only managed to get the last few chapters out in two week intervals and that will probably hold true for a while as I juggle writing with all the responsibilities I have in May regarding end of the school year commitments. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the follows, favorites, reviews, and PMs. I can't express my gratitude enough to all those who have taken this AU journey right along with me. I love you all!


	97. Before the Storm

**Year Five**

Merlin stared down his four legged target. This wasn't harmful, his instructors assured him, and he believed them. Unfortunately, that didn't make his task any easier.

He unleashed the magic within. After months of work, it had become second nature to regulate the potent magic at his disposal. It still fought for purchase at times, as if it were a living thing that sensed his need of it. Trouble was, he didn't always actually _need_ it. Aglain had explained that magic only appeared stronger when negative emotions surged within. It wasn't that the magic actually grew stronger; it was that it came more quickly to his aid. Nimueh added some technical commentary like the rushing of blood when in pain increased the sense of urgency, but he got the point without worrying about how it worked.

Merlin let the magic simmer for a little, then honed his gaze. " _Cum aet mec_." The target didn't move, didn't even tremor. Or wait... Merlin sighed. That was just the stamp of a hoof.

"Concentrate," Nimueh scolded. "He's beneath you. Assert your will."

Aglain, holding Lebryt's reins, rolled his eyes. Merlin stifled a smirk, but their gazes locked and the Druid smiled encouragingly. His soft voice carried across the distance. "He's _your_ horse, Merlin. Speak to him as your friend. Draw him gently."

Nimueh scowled on the steed's other side. Merlin tried to conceal his annoyance. He often received conflicting guidance. Trouble was, neither was usually wrong; he was just never sure which piece of advice would work best for _him_.

As he trained his sights on Lebryt again, Merlin decided on Aglain's this time. He liked to think he'd developed a solid bond with the horse. Maybe if he just nudged a little. The magic seeped out of him, stretching across the distance and caressing Lebryt's mane. The horse bobbed his head and tugged at the reins. Aglain let go. Lebryt trotted up to him and stuck his muzzle in his face. Merlin laughed and rubbed the faithful steed.

"He never ceases to amaze me," Aglain said.

Nimueh folded her arms over her chest. "He _is_ Emrys," she returned matter-of-factually, though admiration filled her eyes.

Merlin grinned. He'd done it again, forgotten to employ the words of the spell. He never really _had_ to say them except when they helped him concentrate. But even Aglain, who knew the prophecy of Emrys stated he needn't use his voice to command magic had marveled how often he did so. Turned out when other sorcerers appeared to use magic without words, they were just speaking spells in their minds. Rarely could any common sorcerer do what Merlin did.

Nimueh presumed being Emrys made him a vast reservoir for magic. Unlike other sorcerers, who simply tapped into the fountain of magic, Merlin bubbled with it constantly, his veins pulsing like an underground aqueduct. She liked to use analogies like that.

Bells began to peal. Merlin stopped stroking Lebryt. "I'm late!"

"Not yet," Aglain said calmly. "It's just the call to amass."

"I said I'd be back before they rang!" He took off at a dead run. He couldn't be late, not again. Arthur had lectured his ear off more than once over his tardiness.

He flew through an arch, flung open a set of doors, and sprinted down a hall. Servants were rushing back and forth, last minute preparations for the big event. He rounded a corner and fell pell-mell into a mess of red cape and chain mail. Hands on his shoulders kept him from hitting the floor and deep laughter sounded.

"Steady, Merlin. Arthur after you again?"

"He will be if I don't get cleaned up!"

Percival chuckled some more. Elyan next to him tapped his head. "Use magic."

Merlin slapped a hand to his forehead. With all the training he'd been doing, he was an idiot to keep forgetting magic's use in daily, private life. Even though the ban had been lifted, he continued to be careful when and where he used it. Wary stares were still leveled at him every day, and he didn't want anyone to consider him a threat. Arthur hadn't announced he was a warlock, figuring once the word got out his newly appointed ward was being tutored by a former high priestess and a Druid, it'd be obvious. He'd been right. The heat really turned up then, but Arthur had shielded him, dealing with those opposed himself, allaying their fears and calling upon their trust when he held his courtyard conferences. Arthur had a singular way of talking down agitators into at least a modicum of peace. So Merlin hadn't been strung up, but he was well aware even though _Arthur_ might have most everyone's trust, he had a long way to go.

"Yeah, of course," he replied to Elyan.

Percival let go his shoulders and gave him a little shove in the back. "Get going."

He took off again, shouting back at the knights, "See you there!"

He made it to his room without tumbling over any other obstacles, but skidded to an abrupt stop after barreling through his door, mouth dropping open at an unexpected sight. "Woah."

Freya had risen from a seat at his table. Most of the time she visited, she wore trousers. Easier to transform when wearing them, she'd explained. Dresses were too restrictive. Sometimes Gwen or Morgana forced her into a dress, but it was usually something plain. Freya didn't relish elaborate fashion, or so she said. Merlin kind of wondered if she didn't think herself worthy of it. Now, though...

His eyes roamed the glory in front of him. Freya had donned a dark crimson dress, beaded across the plunging neckline. It cascaded to the floor in generous pleats. A sheer black lace functioned as a sort of overcoat, though it hung open, secured to the gown by a belt at the waist. Jewels embellished Freya's sun-kissed collarbone, delicate silver work dotted with rubies. Her hair had been swept back and braided with entwined ribbon. She bent her head, speaking sheepishly.

"Gwen made the dress. I didn't want to insult her and not wear it."

Merlin could barely breathe, not to mention answer. She looked up, brow furrowed with concern. Morgana must have applied her makeup. Freya's cheeks were rosier than usual and her lips brighter in color. "It's too much. I should change."

She made to gather a bundle of her regular clothes laid on the table, but he rushed to her side and forced words to exit his mouth. "No, don't! It's great. Really. It's...you look...I mean..." His cheeks flushed. He cleared his throat. "You're beautiful."

Her cheeks tinged even pinker. Heat tingled from Merlin's head to his toes. He ran a hand through his hair and wobbled away to his dressing screen. His own formal clothes had been laid out behind it on the back of a chair. He swallowed several long gulps of air and made conversation to cover the awkwardness. "Arthur would have a fit if he knew you were here."

"I don't think anyone saw me in the halls."

A flash of jealousy stormed through Merlin at the thought of anyone else in the world looking at Freya. He gripped the edge of his wash basin table and funneled the swell of magic into warming his wash water. _Get a hold of yourself, Merlin_ , he chastised himself in Arthur's voice as he tugged off his shirt and quickly ran a flannel over his face, chest, and arms.

"He'd lecture anyway," he responded, praying Freya didn't sense any strain in his voice. The last time Arthur had caught her in his rooms he'd sent her out and spent a good twenty minutes discussing the finer points of noble propriety. He'd gotten real flustered when Merlin pointed out he'd had Gwen in his own chambers for dinner and Arthur said that wasn't the same and he asked why and all Arthur could come back with was "It's just different" and ended with "Shut up, Merlin!" Come to think of it, a lot of their arguments concluded with Arthur ordering him to shut his trap.

"I guess he would," Freya said, and Merlin heard an unsuccessfully suppressed giggle. He'd complained quite a bit to her about Arthur's tutelage. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate all Arthur did for him, but, well, it was a lot different to be steeped in courtly ways than to observe them. There were manners and ways of walking and gesturing, a whole different speech pattern and ways of talking to say what you wanted to without really saying what you wanted to so the person you talked to understood what you meant even though you didn't say it. Then there was training with every weapon under the sun―"We won't stop until you're proficient, Merlin"―and education―history, philosophy, writing verbose treatises―and on top of it all, magic practice. Most days he fell into bed utterly exhausted.

Merlin shimmied into his formal wear, a set he felt a bit ridiculous in made specifically for him by the court tailor, black trousers with a red coat that fell to his knees. He glanced at himself in the mirror tacked to the wall and balked. His hair! His eyes glowed and the strands readjusted themselves into a semblance of order. He stepped out from behind the screen.

Freya looked suddenly shy. She bowed her head. "My lord."

Merlin strode up to her and took her arm respectfully as Arthur had taught him. "Stop." She'd teased him with the address so many times these last months.

When she looked back up, his heart skipped a beat, then twittered into a chorus of pitter-patter thumps. "You really look like one, though. You're...so handsome."

Merlin's mouth went dry and he couldn't formulate a response. He tugged at her arm and they moved towards the door. All right. So there was something good about getting all spruced up after all.

* * *

The knock at the door was expected, but Morgana's stomach knotted just the same. Gwen rested her hands briefly on her shoulders and guessed at the identity of their visitor. "It's Arthur."

"I'll let him in." Morgana made to head to the door.

"No." Gwen stared at her sternly in her full length mirror. "I will."

Morgana repressed a sigh at her maidservant, clothed in prettiest pink, the most fashionable gown she'd allowed Morgana to persuade her to wear. She watched in the mirror as Gwen opened the door, and Arthur's expectant face appeared. His expression morphed into a nervous longing, and Morgana felt a sudden urge to whirl around, stomp up to the couple, press them together, and demand they kiss until they both stopped being so foolish. Then they could make this a double wedding.

Morgana bit her tongue. She'd harangued them enough these past months, first Arthur, then Gwen, then Arthur again. They were both too detached, too logical, too _right_. Gwen wouldn't let Arthur be less than he was supposed to be as king, and Arthur wouldn't violate Gwen's sacrifice or desires. Sometimes Morgana hated them both for being so _good_.

"I...wanted to...see Morgana," Arthur stumbled over his words

"I guessed that," Gwen replied softly. "She's ready. You can come in."

As Gwen widened the door and Arthur stepped inside, Morgana turned. Arthur's eyes rounded just a hair. "Morgana... You look... perfect."

Morgana beamed. The splendorous gown had been commissioned especially for this day. Velvet green cloth, the symbol of young love, plunged from her neck down. The flattering color split at her waist, exposing a royal blue underskirt that represented her purity. Sapphires fastened to gold ribbon ringed the hems of her long, flared sleeves and the neckline of her bodice. Gwen had worked for some time on her hair, winding spirals of braids around a central bun while the rest of her locks hung free in dark waves.

"I'm glad you approve," she said. "Though your opinion isn't the one that most concerns me."

Gwen had stepped into the hall. She closed the door to afford them privacy before Morgana could insist she stay. Arthur paced up to her, resplendent in his mail and cape. "I don't think _Lancelot_ will manage to pledge his troth when he beholds your beauty."

Heat rose in Morgana's cheeks and she turned quickly back to the mirror. She raised a hand to loose curls falling over her shoulders, pretending to readjust them. Arthur frowned at her in the mirror and she followed his line of sight to her hand trembling slightly. Curse him for finding the weakness in her bravado!

"You do want to do this?" he asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

Morgana laughed lightly and spoke as if he were an idiot. "Yes, Arthur. I want to do this"

"But you're..." he pointed at her shaking hand.

"As you recall, I wanted a small, private ceremony like Gwaine and Sefa's."

Arthur looked aside, face flushing. "I'm sorry."

Morgana puffed up her chest to imitate him. "Responsibility. Duty. Ruling a kingdom. 'I rely on you, Morgana. Can't you see why we have to do it this way?'" Diplomacy. She was the closest thing Camelot had to a princess. Her wedding would bring royals from neighboring kingdoms miles. They could ferret out who were their friends, test their views on the changes in Camelot, and forge possible alliances.

Arthur's jaw tightened. "It was too much to ask of you."

"It's a little late to come to that conclusion."

"I'll release you," Arthur blurted. "Marry and go live on Lancelot's lands."

"I'm _not_ letting you disentangle me from your life yet. Camelot would fall apart in a day if you were left on your own."

"I mean it. If you want to go, I won't stop you."

"I know you mean it. And that's why I won't go. You're too good to leave you, Arthur Pendragon." She smiled as he flushed once more at her compliment. He coughed and cleared his throat.

"Are you scared?" He gestured at her hand again.

"I shouldn't be so afraid to stand in front of a bunch of people!" she lamented.

"Keep your eyes on Lancelot. He's all that matters."

Yes, Lancelot. Noble, loyal, passionate, her solid rock that never faltered. With him at her side, she could do almost anything.

Arthur took her shoulder with his left hand and turned her around, blue eyes shining with a tender emotion she'd seen more these last months than the years they'd spent together before. They'd suffered so much pain between them. So many errors and lies and deaths. But now they were forging a new kingdom together, side by side, brother and sister.

"I know it's not like a Pendragon to be so..."

"Like a girl?" she taunted.

Another smile curved half his mouth upwards, but then he swallowed thickly. "I could have lost you. If things had gone differently..."

Her attempt to recover flippancy faltered. "You let me come back, after what I did..."

"I couldn't have walked these halls long without you in them." Arthur looked down, loosening the drawstrings of a pouch she now noticed he held in his right hand. He looked back up at her. "Even though I never knew her, they say my mother was the finest queen Camelot ever had. She loved them and they loved her." He withdrew a bejeweled brooch from the pouch. "This was hers. It's her sigil. Geoffrey says it means peace and security."

Arthur tucked the empty pouch into his belt and stepped closer to slide the pin at the brooch's back through the center of the hem at her neckline. Morgana fingered the cherished heirloom. It was exquisite, a dove inlaid with pearls spreading its wings above a crystalline blue saltire.

"You're a true princess of Camelot. Never doubt it."

Morgana looked up, unshed tears gracing her eyes. "My home is here with you, Arthur, and it always will be. I'll never leave."

Arthur held out his arm. She released his hand and hooked her arm around his.

* * *

Arthur reached the corridor containing the double doors to the grand hall. All morning, he'd been wrestling a tumult of emotion roiling inside like a spring thunderstorm. So much weighed on his young shoulders. In his short time as king, he must have already presided over more than a hundred council and round table meetings. He'd hashed out new laws, done anyway with several old ones, and held weekly courtyard conferences to calm down those with ruffled feathers for a least another week or two. Now he faced the added pressure of the royal dignitaries that had arrived for the wedding. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to add another burden. Well, it would have needed to happen some time or other, so he might as well swallow any pity for himself and bear the load. But today, he wouldn't let his responsibilities dominate. This was Morgana and Lancelot's day, and he planned to enjoy it in their honor.

Gwen was waiting for her mistress. He let go Morgana, and she walked the rest of the way on her own. Gwen looked up, meeting his eyes instead of Morgana's. He'd tried to pretend earlier his stomach hadn't flip-flopped when he'd beheld her at Morgana's door, but the sensation reasserted itself again now, making him painfully aware there would never be a day like this for them. Since they'd returned, Gwen had been the picture of duty and decorum in his presence. Unfortunately for him, such behavior just incited more admiration for a woman so dedicated to the good of her kingdom she set her own deepest desires aside. He broke their eye contact. He respected her too much to trespass on her feelings for too long. Still, didn't help much when a little farther down the corridor he beheld Gwaine planting _another_ public kiss on Sefa before she entered the grand hall.

"I'm here!" A breathless Merlin slid to a stop at his side.

"Where's your companion?"

"With mother."

"You lost track of time again."

Merlin looked chagrined. "Sorry."

Arthur shook his head. "Better not dawdle when you take your lady bastet as wife someday."

" _Arthur!_ " Merlin glared at him, reddening to match his coat.

"It's part of my duty as guardian to assure you unite with a suitable wife."

"I'm sixteen!"

"Old enough to be betrothed, for certain."

Merlin's ears glowed now, too, and he glanced around. "Stop talking about this!"

Arthur knuckled his head and Merlin ducked backwards. He's eyes glowed and his hair smoothed itself. "You're free to love whomever you want, Merlin."

An expression of pity Arthur hated to see on Merlin's face appeared. "I'm sorry about Gw⸻"

"You can quit telling me that all the time. I've accepted we can never be one. But I want to see you happy, and when you're with Freya, it's too clear you're a perfect pair."

Merlin shifted on his feet. "Yeah, well...there's time for that, right?"

Arthur nodded. Bells rang out. Those in the corridor assembled into a line. "Let's retrieve the groom." They hurried to a nearby side room, Arthur bending a knuckle to rap sharply on the door. It opened to reveal a youth clothed in a squire's red tunic emblazoned with a dragon.

"Hey, Merlin!" Will exuded, but cringed when Merlin jabbed a finger at Arthur. "I mean, my lord!" He bowed at the waist.

Arthur had to keep from chuckling. The boy was always overeager, a bit like Merlin, but his motives were altogether different. Will relished weapons and a fight, dedicating himself with more gusto than his ward ever did. Arthur had seen the type before, starry eyed squires who craved action as the be all and end all of knighthood. He wasn't worried, though. He trusted Lancelot to train the boy so he'd come out all right by the time he recited his vows.

The door widened further, Lancelot's fingers grasping its lip. "It's time?" His bearded friend's smile dominated his expression, his dark eyes twinkling like a child handed a valuable gift he'd craved all his life. Arthur supposed the analogy was somewhat literal in Lancelot's case.

"Come on," he encouraged.

Will stepped out of the way and Lancelot strode forward, a man on a mission. Arthur paralleled him. Merlin and Will fell into step behind. Their reappearance at the end of the hall signaled the opening of the double doors and Gwen hustled Morgana through. Other ladies of the court followed. The knights Lancelot had chosen as honor guard assembled in front of them, Leon, Percival, Gwaine, and Elyan at the forefront. They marched down the grand hall aisle, trampling rose and lily petals that had previously been strewn about, releasing sweet perfume. The ladies split off to join the crowd; the honor guard lined up across the front. Arthur beamed to observe Lancelot taking in the sight of his lady love, the wide smile breaking apart to expose all his teeth. Arthur repressed a stab of jealousy.

Lancelot continued on, climbing the steps to the dais, standing at Morgana's side in front of Geoffery. Morgana's nerves seemed to have vanished. She didn't look anywhere but at Lancelot, her grin mirroring his.

The ceremony proceeded. They spoke words of troth, and Lancelot slid a golden ring etched with both their names onto the third finger of Morgana's right hand, then she did the same for him. Geoffrey joined their hands. The spectators cheered. Bells rang out and shouts in the courtyard echoed the jubilation inside. Arthur approached, holding out a heavy pouch to Morgana. She accepted, grasped Lancelot's hand, and they ascended the spiral staircase in the corner to reach a tower balcony. Arthur heard the pings hit the cobbles and conjured in his mind's eye the immeasurable joy on the bride and groom's faces as they flung the gift of coin to the people.

He sighed when Gwen turned from her place beside Hunith, Gaius, and Freya, and their eyes locked briefly before both looked away. He scanned the celebrants. Druids were among their number, guarded by a handful of knights. They'd been nothing but helpful and yet still faced the prejudices of their age. He presumed the dignitaries from neighboring kingdoms across the aisle were trying to ignore them, but failing, sending surreptitious glances their way.

Arthur's brow drew downwards. A slender woman in a cream gown tinged with gold was intensely contemplating him as if trying to size up a difficult puzzle. He was used to curious stares, but this was something else altogether. It unnerved him and he averted his gaze, though he searched his mind for a name.

Ah. Yes. Her father was Rodor, king of Nemeth. Mithian. That was her name. Princess Mithian, two years his junior. Her father had been seeking the perfect opportunity to wed her, so the rumor went.

Arthur's eyes widened and his stomach turned another somersault. He looked back, but the princess had disappeared.

* * *

The feasting hall fairly spun Merlin dizzy, the singing and dancing and plucking of lutes and whistling of pipes becoming a clamorous cacophony in his ears. He'd taken to the floor more than once to join in, grateful for the dances he'd learned under Morgana and Gwen's tutelage. Of course, he liked them most when he faced Freya and their hands locked for several steps. He'd danced until his cheeks throbbed with heat, and Arthur had grabbed him by the back of his coat and made him sit at his table to cool down. Now his king pulled his goblet out of his hand.

"Don't overdo it, Merlin."

"Where's Freya?" Merlin asked, gaze sweeping the room.

"With your mother and Gwen. She's as flushed as you."

"I'll dance with her." He hadn't risen an inch when Arthur snatched his arm and whirled him round, directing him away from the festivities.

"Arthur―"

"I should have been paying attention to how much wine you imbibed," the king grumbled.

Merlin blinked, assessing a circle of haze in the corners of his vision. They exited through a set of doors and into a gusty spring night. Arthur pressed him to a seat at the top of a set of his stairs and settled next to him.

"You're not usually so...thirsty."

"I like dancing," Merlin said, grinning to meet his eyes.

"I could tell." Arthur steadied him at the shoulders and unlaced his fine coat, stripping it away. "You're soaked."

Merlin flinched at the cool wind playing across his sweat drenched shirt, biting at his back. "You should have danced with Gwen." Merlin rubbed at his eyes, trying to work out the fog. "Or anyone else."

Arthur grunted.

"What?"

"You notice how many of those kings brought their daughters?"

"So?"

" _Eligible_ daughters, most of them. Unbetrothed."

Merlin tilted his head. Kings. Daughters. Weddings. Oh. "Send them home."

Arthur guffawed and caught him round the neck to shake him lightly. "Sober up. An out of control warlock initiating accidental magic won't do either of us any favors."

"I won't do that."

"If you keep drowning yourself in my most expensive spirits you will." Arthur leaned back against the steps.

Merlin folded his arms atop his knees and tried to clear his mind. He inhaled several large breaths and squinted up at the twinkling stars, though many were obscured by gathering clouds. Moisture hung in the air, its earthy scent clogging his nose. His hands clawed into his hair.

"Merlin?"

"Arthur," he huffed back.

"Out with it."

"With what?"

"You were eagerness and smiles this afternoon and now its furious dancing and goblets of wine."

Merlin closed his eyes. Thunder rumbled in the distance. "I love Freya."

"And that turns you into a fool?"

Merlin clenched his arms so tightly his nails pierced his skin through his shirt. "It's too perfect... They're still out there." He raised his head and Arthur's expression gone serious meant he understood the reference to Morded and Morgause. Four months. Four infuriatingly quiet months. They'd been on pins and needles for the first month, cautious the second, recaptured a semblance of normality the third. And here they were, at the end of the fourth, celebrating as if they had nothing to fear. "It won't last."

Arthur sighed and looked up at the stars slowly being blotted out. The wind swirled around them. "It won't."

"Freya's too close to me. She'll get hurt."

Arthur sat up suddenly and gripped his arm. "Don't you dare tell her to keep away from you."

"She should go back to the Dragon Sanctuary and stay with father."

"You tell her that and you'll break her. You think she'd keep away from you anyway? You can't force her to go against her own heart." His grasp lightened. "And you wouldn't be able to take her absence either and _I'd_ have to put up with your moping."

Merlin snorted a breathy laugh.

"We face whatever comes together. We're stronger that way. All of us. Freya included." Arthur pushed to his feet. "Stay here."

Merlin lay back against the steps. Arthur was right. He did feel stronger when Freya was near. He felt stronger when Lancelot was near or Gwaine or any of the knights or his father or mother. Will and Gaius. Arthur most of all, of course. But Freya...if anything happened to her because of him...

A rustle of cloth and an arm wrapped around his. Freya lowered herself next to him and he abruptly knew he could never order her away.

"Arthur said you needed me," she spoke softly.

Merlin leaned into her shoulder and threaded his fingers through hers.

* * *

Arthur watched the two young lovebirds commune for a few seconds, then strode away. The celebration faded into the distance as he made his way to the armory. He withdrew a practice sword and marched to the blustery practice field. A dummy target bobbed back and forth and he slashed at it.

Merlin was right. The calm couldn't last. The clouds would converge. They'd darken with rain. And then the storm would break.

He chopped at the dummy's head. But heaven take him if he didn't preserve them all with every ounce of his strength.


	98. Let the Games Begin

**Author's Note:** There is reference in this chapter to some things that happened way back in Year One and Year Two, chapters 4/5 and 25/26 respectively. Just wanted to let readers know in case you want a refresher or wonder when those things happened.

* * *

Rocks spun and whizzed, some bouncing along the ground and never reaching their targets, others missing the bobbing dummies by a wide margin. The two that hit dead on didn't make much of a dent. Mordred shot Morgause an angry glare when one rock went rogue and almost slammed into his chest. He raised a hand to shield himself just in time.

Morgause typically ignored his glare, instead calling a halt to the mess. "Assemble!"

The rag tag group of cobbled together sorcerers lined up. None of the Druids had attended. _They_ knew how to use their magic well. These were Morgause's sorry finds, random sorcerers she'd attached to her cause over the years.

"You're infants!" Mordred chided, standing in front of them and scowling. Their heads bowed and their eyes grew chagrined. "You have to concentrate!"

Morgause took a place next to him and his magic siphoned, draining enough he felt the silent warning to hold his tongue. He clenched his fists.

"You're learning," Morgause said, "but you _can_ do better. Meditate in pairs. Create your fire and practice directing it for the next hour. You are dismissed."

The group broke up, many seeming relieved the training had ended. When the practice field cleared, Mordred exploded. "Stop pulling on my magic!"

"It's the easiest way to get your attention," Morgause reminded him.

"Just talk to me. Leave my magic alone!"

"And what do you want me to say? Hark, everyone! Emrys the Pretender wants you to pay him heed and play along. Let us fawn over his superiority."

Mordred seethed and flared his magic in a swift burst. Morgause gasped and stumbled, hands to her chest, and he grinned. Her eyes snapped to him and went gold. A scorching burn fired in his heart. He balled his hands into fists and screwed his eyes shut as his face went red and veins popped into sight along his neck. He sank to his knees, shaking with the effort not to cry out. The sensation receded.

"You weaken us both when you use it against me!" Morgause chastised.

Mordred's eyes slotted open. "It's worth it."

Morgause's hand shot out and Mordred felt the sting of a solid slap.

"At each other again?" a gloating voice taunted. Both the magic wielders faced the newcomer, Morgause with a hand on her chest, Mordred with one on his cheek.

Mordred rose to his feet, rolling his eyes at the young man striding towards them. He was wiry and muscular with long black hair that brushed the black leather ensemble he liked to wear. The outfit was fitted like a second skin and Mordred thought he looked ridiculous. The man paused to snap off a longish twig from a cluster of bushes.

"You're an awful parent, Morgause," the man admonished. "Proper discipline isn't rash. It's calculated. Formal. Sharp... Memorable." Mordred had to resist knocking the man back with a spell when his eyes turned his way and he pointed the stick his direction. "There are for more effective methods. Want me to acquaint the boy with one of them?"

Morgause walked away from Mordred, toward the man. "Why don't you try, Cenred? Though I wouldn't forget he can tear you apart with barely a thought."

"Hm," Cenred replied. "Yes. Our Emrys, isn't he?"

"I _am_ Emrys," Mordred spat out.

"Oh, I know, boy. You've demonstrated your little skill quite effectively." He looked to Morgause, "but I haven't seen him do much of anything else."

Morgause stopped in front of the king. "I can leave and take my sorcerers with me. They'll follow Emrys anywhere."

Cenred twirled the twig. "Prophecy. Religious zeal. Quite an effective tool itself, isn't it?" Cenred flung the stick towards Mordred. It landed a couple feet from him. "As is that on a rebellious _child's_ backside."

Mordred took a step towards the king; Morgause blocked his way.

"Well," Cenred said, "I only came to inform you our little minion should soon be ensconced in Camelot. King Arthur really was a fool to invite so many royals and nobles."

Morgause turned away and walked back to Morded. "This is _your_ plan, Cenred. Not mine."

"We need to eliminate the Pendragon's protector, correct? Well, I'm taking care of it."

"And if this fails?"

"She's never failed me before."

"You can hardly control her!" Mordred snapped, unable to contain his contempt.

"Careful, boy," Cenred warned with a smile. "I might find a way to whip the insolence out of you."

Mordred began to stomp towards the king, but Morgause grabbed him, digging her fingers into his upper arm.

"We will see what comes of _your_ plan," Morgause said.

"You should hope it succeeds. Then you can unleash your own minions." Cenred turned on his heel, returning to his castle.

Mordred ripped his arm out of Morgause's grasp. "You should punish him for speaking that way to us!"

"We need him."

"He despises us."

"He doesn't think of magic like his father did."

"He _uses_ us."

"And we use him. That's what this world is, Mordred. Using people to get what you want. And you want Arthur dead." She snatched his arm and pushed up his sleeve to reveal a scarred rune. "Or have you forgotten this? How long do you think you have before the spirits exact retribution for your failure?"

She let go and Mordred pushed his sleeve back down to cover the mark.

"We need Cenred's armies. He's the only king fully committed to our cause."

Mordred scowled as Morgause raised a hand and the scattered rocks began to arrange themselves into an orderly pile. "You used to command _more_ loyalty," he chided.

Morgause didn't turn back, but her back stiffened. "You can lose loyalty very quickly."

Mordred's heart skipped a beat, aware she didn't reference the kings in her alliance that had once wholly supported her cause. He'd been angry for weeks after Morgause had bound them together to use his magic. He'd felt a vessel, poured out for her selfish ambition. But there was more to it, he'd seen. Much more. She hated Arthur Pendragon as much as he did. Camelot's king had drawn away the woman they both cared for deeply.

"Morgana's not disloyal," he defended. "She's confused."

The rocks finished their stacking. She spoke softly. "Yes."

Mordred pushed away painful memory, scowling at her back, and flaring again with anger. "And I'm not pretending to be Emrys."

Morgause huffed.

"I'm _not_."

Morgause eyed him skeptically. "You don't have enough power."

Mordred smirked and opened his mouth wide, but Morgause slapped her hand across it. "No more. You've already quailed Cenred's household with that little demonstration."

When she removed her hand, Mordred grinned, recalling the windows in Cenred's grand hall bursting into shards of glass. "I am Emrys."

Morgause stared at him for several seconds. "Some days, I almost think you are. But whether I believe or not, they do." Morgause glanced where their little band of sorcerers had departed.

Mordred ran an eye over the looming castle above the practice field. Fine. He'd go along with Morgause for as long as he had to. He'd train her sorcerers, lend her his magic, do whatever she required of him. But after he watched Arthur and his wretched sorcerer burn, he'd rid himself of her control forever.

* * *

"Freya's gone back to the Sanctuary, hasn't she?" Arthur inquired.

Merlin, sitting to his right, looked up from the sweet porridge layered with fruit he'd been poking at. "You saw her fly away?"

Arthur wiped at his mouth with a cloth and set a spoon in his empty bowl. Very few in Camelot knew of the girl's ability to transform into a giant black cat. They still thought her safer leaving in the night. "I didn't, but you always mope around after she leaves."

Merlin rose up from his slump in his seat. "I don't."

"You do. You act like a whipped puppy."

Merlin grumbled under his breath, but started to eat with gusto. Arthur grinned. It only ever took a little push, just a little hint he wasn't meeting Arthur's expectations and he changed immediately. A bit of heat crept up the back of Arthur's neck. It really wasn't fair to manipulate the youth, but it was the quickest way to shake Merlin out of his moods.

"How long will she be gone this time?"

Merlin shrugged. "Couple days? She's just going to check on the eggs and come back."

"Good," Arthur said. Well, he thought anyway. He wasn't a dragon lord and clueless when it came to the eggs secreted away in the Dragon Sanctuary. He _had_ been informed Merlin was expected to hatch the eggs some time, but had requested they delay for a while until his kingdom was on more solid footing. He didn't need rumors of dragons to rile anyone up anymore than they already were.

"So, to business," Arthur said, tapping at the sheet laid between them. "This is the list of those who've remained after the wedding. Bayard is our ally, of course, though he hasn't been vocal about his opinion of our lifting the ban on magic. Still, he hasn't objected, so I assume it's an issue he considers ours to decide and he'll stay out of it.

"Olaf is hesitant. Although he says the right things, I sense reluctance. He honored my father well enough, but I don't think he accepts me yet. He did bring his daughter, though. He's quite possessive of her and doesn't often take her along on journeys, so he might be contemplating augmenting his power in the Five Kingdoms by linking us more directly through her.

"Rodor brought his daughter as well. He's been acting nervous around me and I caught her looking at me, so he might be trying to strengthen our alliance as well. Or he could just want the lands of Gedref he ceded to my father years ago and maybe he means to use her to persuade me."

Arthur stifled a chuckle at the next name. "Our ties to Gawant are already strong. I doubt Lord Godwyn brought his daughter along for more than to delight in her viewing of the wedding. Which is fortunate, because I've known Elena since childhood. She's kind and affable but not a woman you make queen.

"Other lords brought their daughters as well, but none would make a better alliance than the kings."

Merlin's spoon clacked against the table a little too hard as he set it down.

Arthur looked up at his ward's disgruntled expression and leaned back in his seat. "You knew it would likely come to this. My marriage will be advantageous for the kingdom."

Merlin pushed back from his chair and stood, pacing to the window and opening it. His hair mussed in the breeze.

"We need allies against Morgause and Mordred. They're out there planning something, and we need to form a strong defensive alliance before they show. We won't earn just these kings' armies, but also their sorcerers. We'll get a chance to convince them they must help us stop those hurting people with magic for their own selfish reasons." Arthur sighed. He would have been most pleased if they didn't have to rely on sorcerers from other kingdoms, but the Druids in his capital had refused to stand beside his armies, holding to their pacifist ways even though they supported his kingship and Merlin's training. Iseldir had reported to him just a week previously that the rogue Druids had mostly been contained, except those who escaped with Mordred, and most of the rest of his people were taking a "wait and see" approach. They wouldn't attack Arthur, but they wouldn't aid him either.

Merlin drew in a deep breath of the fresh spring air and sighed heavily. "It was wrong the first time, and it's wrong now."

Arthur worked his jaw. He'd expected Merlin to fight him on this issue; Morgana, too, but at least she wasn't present. He'd insisted she take two weeks to enjoy her new marriage before continuing her courtly duties. "It isn't wrong." He turned in his seat to face Merlin. His ward flicked an annoyed glance at him, then went back to gazing out the window. "And Princess Myrine isn't in the running this time, so you can't tell me I'm under an evil spell." King Alined hadn't been invited to the wedding. Arthur had let his father's declaration stand that if the man ever crossed his borders he forfeited his head. He counted Alined as a firm enemy.

"It's stupid," Merlin grumbled. "Gwen loves you. You love her. Neither of you have stopped." He turned, leaning against the window sill. Arthur was struck by his long, lean form for a moment. His stance was different, not as loose as it once had been, more...mature, exuding noble confidence. When standing, they met eye to eye now. In many ways, these last four months had turned them into equals. Which made it all the more difficult to argue with the youth.

"I'm guessing you've had this talk with Gwen as well," Arthur accused quietly. Merlin's frustrated stare was his answer. "And I assume she says she will never accept a proposal from me, so stop pestering her."

Merlin nodded.

Arthur pressed a palm into the armrest of his chair. "This is harder on me than you, Merlin." His voice hitched a little and he cursed his weakness as he swallowed hard.

"Arthur..."

"Stop. Your pitying tone makes it worse." Arthur rose from his seat. "I need you to support me in this. This is part of being a good ruler of my people. I have to stop looking back and move forward, and the way you feel about this...it doesn't help me do what I need to."

Merlin lowered his gaze for a moment and brought a knuckle to his lips, running it over them. He let out a long breath, then straightened. "I'll support you."

Arthur nodded once to him, relieved they could finally get on with putting this issue to rest. "Then I need your aid. We'll evaluate the kings and their daughters and determine the best alliance. I need you to scout around, talk to their servants, and if you can, their courts."

Merlin smiled with half his mouth. "So you want me to play spy."

"I don't know why, but people seem to be more free with their thoughts when you're around. For some reason, they think you're actually guileless."

Merlin's eyes twinkled as he put a hand on the window sill and looked back down at the courtyard. "Go over your options again then."

"Olaf. His kingdom is―"

"Far north, not so advantageous, but could harry possible enemies that border him like Cenred if needed. He's a stubborn and hard man, a king one wants for an ally and never an enemy, so this could assure his loyalty and remove a potential threat."

Arthur raised his eyebrows and beamed. "Well done, Merlin."

"I listen to my tutors, you know."

"Apparently so."

"They don't report my progress?"

"They say you squirm too much in your seat."

Merlin glanced at him with a roll of his eyes. "They're boring. Doesn't mean I'm not learning the stuff they prattle on about."

Arthur chuckled softly. He recalled those days. He'd hated them. He'd just wanted a sword in his hand and the practice field under his feet. "Well, their work is paying off. You've assessed the situation accurately. You don't know Olaf's daughter, though. Her name's Vivian and she..."

Merlin suddenly stood up straight, palms pressing into on the window sill as he leaned forward. His mouth fell open.

"What is it?"

Merlin continued to stare into the courtyard. "It's...him."

Arthur moved over to the window, nudging Merlin aside a little to glance down. An entourage colored in dark maroon was filling the courtyard. "King Odin. He didn't respond to the invitation." And truthfully, Arthur had been glad. The man bore ill will to the Pendragon house. Many years before, in a skirmish at their border, one of his sons had been killed. He'd broken off all communication with King Uther and they'd maintained an uneasy truce since then.

"This complicates things," Arthur murmured. "Though he has no daughter to offer. But why come? He must want something."

Merlin's gaze had hardened into...anger?

Arthur tilted his head. "I appreciate your care for me, Merlin, but don't get too upset. We can handle him."

"I'll take care of him," Merlin spoke sternly.

Arthur scoffed. "I'm not assigning you the job of taking care of a king."

Merlin turned his eyes on him. "Not Odin. _Him_." He pointed. "At the back."

Arthur peered into the entourage and his eyes widened in surprise. He'd known Lord Baudemagus had passed two years back and his heir had taken his place, but there had been no contact between them. Arthur had never intended to open his doors again to the young man dismissively assessing his courtyard. He hadn't been sure he wouldn't strangle Meleagant himself in retribution for the beating Merlin had received at his father's hands.

* * *

A shiver and prickle had tremored down Merlin's back when he sighted Lord Meleagant in Odin's entourage. He was twelve again―terrified, panicky, cringing, his entire back side lighting up as a rod lashed him without mercy. He'd been punished ostensibly for hitting the lord, but he'd actually also broken the lord's arm, though no one knew that. He'd been justified. Meleagant had intended to violate Gwen and he'd done what he had to stop it.

Arthur whirled round from the window, picked up the sword belt he'd discarded earlier, and headed for the door. Merlin grabbed his own belt and sword, then dashed to catch up with him.

"You tell him to leave," Merlin said as they both secured their belts around their waists. "I'll make sure he does."

Arthur's jaw was taut. "We won't."

Merlin gaped, then shouted. "You know what he tried to do to Gwen!"

"Yes. Keep your voice down."

"He's a horrible man!" Merlin hissed. "He'll hurt people."

"I won't let him."

"He can't stay here."

Arthur stopped and turned to face him, whispering lowly so any passing servants wouldn't catch his words. "What I _want_ to do is ram my sword through his gullet!" Arthur's cheeks had flushed with wrath and he took a couple breaths to regain control before speaking on. "But how do you think that would look?"

"Not good," Merlin replied, and pinched his lips together in frustration.

"You're in the thick of the game now, Merlin. You show him the utmost respect."

"And undermine him behind his back."

"If it comes to that, yes."

"I hate nobles," Merlin grumbled.

"Has it occurred to you that you've become one?"

Merlin snorted. "Yeah. So I should be able to beat someone's ass without repercussions."

Arthur shook his head, but put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him along the hallway. "A noble has the power to do what he wants, but that doesn't mean he doesn't face consequences."

"What about Mealagant? I ended up sore back then and nothing happened to him."

"Well, you did break his arm and almost his nose." Arthur smiled. Merlin returned it. Yeah, there was that. Arthur paused at the entrance to the courtyard. "Time to play."

Arthur stepped out first; Merlin lagged behind. He watched as Arthur greeted King Odin with utter decorum, not a hint of disrespect, and yet, he appeared strong. He wasn't ingratiating himself. Odin replied in kind, though his eyes bore something sharp and dangerous, like he was trying to control an impulse to rage.

Merlin had intended to keep his gaze locked on Arthur, but his eyes betrayed him. They slipped away and found the wretched lord. His skin crawled when Meleagant smiled, sickly sweet. He didn't play the game well at all. The contempt was obvious, the smirk conveying its message even better than words, and Merlin heard it clearly―"I'm better than you. I'll always be better than you. I've seen you thoroughly beaten down, so I have power and you don't."

Meleagant marched towards Arthur and Merlin frowned. A girl hung on his arm. Dark haired, clothed in a simple cornflower blue dress more reminiscent of a peasant than a noble woman. She reminded him a little of Freya, though she was older, probably by at least two years. Her eyes darted here and there, giving Merlin the odd impression she was assessing potential threats.

"King Arthur," Odin said when Meleagant stopped next to him. "You know Lord Meleagant. His father and I were quite close until his death."

Arthur hadn't looked at the lord yet. "As was my father."

Merlin recalled a map from his studies. Meleagant's lands were in the south, far nearer to Odin's kingdom than the capital, though he hadn't realized Baudemagus had ties to the king. He wondered if Arthur had already known of the relationship.

"Meleagant tells me your bond has waned of late," Odin said. "I brought him along thinking you might want to renew ties."

Arthur turned his head then and tilted it in greeting, though he kept his hands clasped behind his back. "You are welcome once again."

"Thank you," Meleagant replied, nodding his head in acceptance of Arthur's greeting. "May I introduce my wife, Lami." The girl curtsied.

Arthur unclasped his hands to take the girl's slender one and kiss it respectfully. "Welcome to Camelot."

"Thank you, my lord," she replied quietly.

"You have a ward now, I hear," Meleagant spoke loudly, looking behind Arthur. Merlin suppressed a glare. "Does he behave himself these days?" He laughed heartily. "You know, King Odin, my father had to thrash the lad. Insolent and cheeky he was. Barbaric. I hope you've employed a firm hand with him, Arthur."

"I am king," Arthur admonished. "You and I are not peers."

Meleagant's gaze snapped back to Arthur. Anger flashed briefly, then he relaxed and smiled. "Of course, your majesty. Forgive my form of address."

Arthur waved Merlin forward. He forced his feet to stride across to his king and friend. He stood tall. He wasn't a child servant anymore. He was ward of the king and a noble by rights, on equal footing with Meleagant, and by the gods, he'd show it.

"Merlin _is_ my ward. Under my guardianship and protection. He has my full trust. His words and counsel are invaluable. So if you intend to earn my graces, I suggest you earn his as well."

Odin looked between Merlin and Arthur and Meleagant, surprise in his expression, clearly aware something was being said without being said.

Meleagant nodded stiffly. "Well, then, Merlin. Perhaps we should let bygones be bygones and reacquaint ourselves. Much has changed since last we met." The sickly sweet smile was back.

Merlin could barely force his lips to curl upwards in return. Much _had_ changed, but he was certain although he had changed, Meleagant hadn't changed one bit. "Maybe we can take to the practice field together some time. Your sword against mine? Just a friendly bout."

Arthur broke decorum, glaring at him warningly. Merlin didn't acknowledge the look.

Meleagant's reply was controlled, but his expression grew tight. "I'd be glad to oblige. Though, I'd be at a disadvantage against _magic_ , I think."

"I practice with Arthur all the time without magic. I can afford you a handicap."

Odin stifled a laugh. Meleagant's eyes burned fierce and his reply was forced. "Yes, well...we'll see."

* * *

Gwen had just finished fitting a mattress with clean sheets when the door to the chamber she tended opened. She expected to behold the lady she was currently assigned to, but found Arthur in the doorway instead. She focused her attentions back on the bed, fluffing a pillow and ignoring the leap in her heart that always occurred when Arthur appeared.

"Princess Mithian isn't here," she reported. "She went out and you needn't worry. She's well guarded."

"I'm not here to see her."

His footsteps approached her. "Oh?" He couldn't be here to start something again, could he? They hadn't broached the topic of their own past relationship since she'd laid it to rest four months ago, but she'd guessed Morgana must be hounding him. She'd asked her lady not to press her or Arthur, but, well, Morgana had too much care for her. _Stop pretending, Gwen!_ Morgana had argued last time. _The way your eyes seek out each other at every round table meeting, everyone knows neither of your hearts has changed._

Gwen reluctantly turned to face Arthur when he halted right beside her. Her heart hadn't changed, and that's why it was all the more important she keep herself in complete control whenever he was near. She'd expected to see what she always saw, pained love exuding from Arthur's intense blue eyes, but she saw worry instead...and fear.

"What is it?" she asked. "Is my father hurt? Elyan? You did send him on patrol. Oh, Arthur, did..."

"No, no, nothing like that, Guinevere. Everyone's all right."

She winced when he spoke her name. She wished he would stop speaking it. Everyone else called her Gwen. "Guinevere" had been his almost exclusively, and every time it escaped his lips she fought memories of whispered sweet nothings and picnics in fields, duties put aside for the solace of finding themselves alone and free. If only... no. Their lives weren't like that and could never be.

"I know you won't like this, but I want you to go home and stay with your father."

Gwen's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Another entourage arrived. King Odin and with him...Lord Meleagant."

A blast of cold fear shivered up Gwen's spine. She hadn't forgotten the terror of so long ago when Meleagant's lackeys had accosted her one night, dragged her gagged to him, and he'd almost had his way with her. She knew now that the statue that seemed to fall by happenstance had been knocked over by Merlin using magic. Meleagant had broken his arm, unable to accost her or any other woman of Camelot for the rest of his visit.

Gwen turned back around to the bed. "I'll attend Mithian."

Arthur's tone hardened. "You'll go home."

"I'm not afraid of Lord Meleagant," she said. Arthur's hand touched her shoulder. She whirled back around and his hand dropped. "I'll carry a knife. If he does anything, he'll discover I'm more than capable of protecting myself."

"I won't have you facing potential harm!" Arthur spoke in distress.

"Order me to leave."

Arthur stared at her for a long moment, then let out a groan of exasperation. He hadn't ordered her to do anything in months. It was evidence of how much he still loved her, how incapable he was of seeing her as a servant. But that's what she was. She wasn't like Morgana or Merlin, no matter how much she felt a part of the Pendragon family. She would never be a ward, never bear the Pendragon seal. Arthur had to face the truth for the good of both of them.

"I don't _want_ to order you," Arthur hissed.

"You're my king. I'm your servant. Your commands are my life."

Arthur growled lowly in his throat. "You aren't a dog in my kennel or a horse in my stables! I don't want you mindlessly bowing to my whims."

"You order other servants all the time."

"You know you aren't like them!"

Gwen clasped her hands together in front of her. "I _am_ your servant, and if you wish me to go to my father, command me."

"I can't!"

Gwen took a long breath. "And that's part of the problem. You have to stop seeing me as you do, sire."

"Guin―"

"Ah. My lord. I didn't expect you to visit my chamber." Gwen rushed out from behind Arthur and curtsied quickly. Princess Mithian had returned.

* * *

Arthur hadn't seen Princess Mithian since Morgana and Lancelot's wedding day. She'd apparently been riding as she wore a purple lady's riding bodice and skirt along with a silver cloak tied around her shoulders. Mithian began to undo the cloak and Gwen approached her to retrieve it.

"To what do I owe this visit?" Mithian asked. Her voice was controlled, strong and steady, and she held her head at an angle so she could gaze on him with intelligent bronze eyes. The effect was rather impressive, and still, his gaze slipped from her to the slender girl hanging up the cloak on a peg. The only thing he wanted to do was caress her curly, dark locks and feel her lips press against his. He kept vowing to himself he wouldn't think about her, but his emotions betrayed him every time she was near.

Mithian glanced over her shoulder at Gwen. "You may go. I can care for myself. But return to draw a bath in an hour."

"Yes, my lady." Gwen bowed her head and exited without looking back. Arthur felt a burst of anger at the princess who cast orders so casually.

"Now that we've attained privacy, my lord, perhaps you may discuss why you've come to my chambers?" Her smile was reserved, barely present, as if she had seen something that amused her but didn't want to share it.

"I...wanted to see you were well settled," Arthur said, explaining his presence with the first thing that came to mind.

"I am quite comfortable and so is my father."

"Good." Arthur peered around the spacious room.

"Anything else?"

Arthur's gaze came back to her. "No. I just meant to check on your needs."

"That's very responsible of you. I assure you we are well pleased."

"Then, I will disturb you no longer." He made his way to the door, but before he could touch the handle, the princess spoke again.

"Why did you lift the ban on magic?"

Arthur turned around in surprise. None of the visiting royals had yet dared to broach the subject with him, and her tone declared a challenge. "You disapprove."

"King Uther was brutal to those who used magic. I would have thought a son molded under him would be the same."

Arthur blinked at her straightforward statement. He expected politicking from all his visiting royals and lords, careful words that censured indirectly and never delved too personally. Mithian spoke so honestly, without a hint of artifice. "I...was. My circumstances changed."

"You don't fear your ward has influenced you?"

"Merlin is absolutely trustworthy."

"Yes. I believe he is."

"You...do?"

"I've observed him. I don't think he has the ability to be like us."

"Us?"

"Deceitful liars. Pretenders to get what we want from each other."

Arthur clasped his hands behind his back. That was exactly what they were, except, it seemed, for the princess in front of him. "Merlin is... pure."

"Perfect?"

"No, but...good."

"Ah. I see. And you, King Arthur? Are you good?"

Arthur shifted on his feet. He didn't want to analyze his strengths and weaknesses with a princess he barely knew, but she was being so open, he felt compelled to offer at least a truthful response. "I want to be. But I'm not sure I always am."

Mithian walked to the table and poured a cup of wine. She sipped. "A good king is a humble man. My father is a good king. I expected to find a different king in Camelot, haughty, arrogant, prideful. One who lifted the ban on magic solely for his advantage." She eyed him. "I've talked to your people. Many of them disapprove of the change, but that hasn't dissuaded you. Sorcerers arrive weekly through the city gates, yet not to work for you. They come to see if they are truly free. And they are. You don't press them into service. The Druids are quite complimentary of you. They stay of their own accord, not because you make them."

"I respect them," Arthur explained quietly.

"In Nemeth, we keep sorcerers under strict rule, but we don't deny them their gifts. I am glad you lifted the ban and so is my father. Our kingdoms used to be friends and he dearly wants it so again."

Ah. So that's why the conversation. He had thought her without intent, but all along she had been moving the conversation to her own concerns after all. She truly was a princess.

"He wants us to marry. What do you think of that?"

Arthur was taken aback. An initial discussion of marriage should have taken place between himself and King Rodor. Mithian shouldn't have the right to an opinion as of yet. He replied as best he could. "I...think...it would strengthen both our kingdoms and..."

"But do you want me? Would you love me?"

"My lady...I...well...I would try to love anyone I vowed myself to."

Mithian set down her goblet. "I would try as well. But we don't have to love, do we, to make our kingdoms stronger? I will consider you, my lord. Now, if you'll excuse me. I must change for dinner. I believe you are dining with the kings and their families tonight, and we both need time to prepare for the sharks, don't we?"

"Of course, my lady," Arthur bowed his head to her. "Yes." He made it to the door, then looked back. "I look forward to seeing you this evening."

Mithian nodded. "And I you." The ghost of a smile was back.

Arthur left the room and closed the door, head spinning. A woman like that had the potential to be a superb queen, speaking her mind, hearing his. He swallowed the lump lodging in his throat. For the first time, he could imagine someone else besides Gwen at his side.

* * *

Morgana's eyes flicked open wide, taking in a dimly lit and unfamiliar room. Where was Arthur and Merlin? Freya? She sat up. Her eyes scanned the room and... Oh. She placed a hand to her collarbone, recovering her breath. She'd been dreaming. Everything was fine. Quiet. Safe. Especially in the presence of the man who breathed deeply next to her.

Lancelot's mouth was open a bit, his bare chest rising and falling in a peaceful cadence. She resisted a sudden urge to brush her fingertips over the dark hair that curled in a strip along his breast bone. She loved the way the hair tickled her nose when she lay against his chest. She lifted a hand, then drew it back. She should let him rest.

She scrutinized the room again as she lay back against her pillow. It was sparse, severely austere. Lancelot had explained his father had abhorred monetary waste and the sin of indulgence. His mother hadn't made any changes after his father died, and when she passed, Lancelot had assigned a trusted steward to oversee du Lac lands. He hadn't been back in years. He'd confessed to her he purposefully avoided going anywhere near his home if he could help it.

Morgana glanced at her husband again, his tranquil closed eyes, trimmed beard, tanned skin indicating most of his time spent under the sun. And a scar, starting on his shoulder and traveling halfway down his upper arm. There were others. They didn't cover every inch of his body, but enough she'd had to conceal her horror.

"My father," Lancelot had whispered their first night. "He left his mark. Reminders. I needed you to know. I don't..." She'd stopped him with a finger to his lips, grasped his shirt, and worked it over his head. She'd found every scar, kissed them, and made him swear he'd never hide any wound from her.

Morgana stared at the canopy over the bed. Lancelot had handed himself and his home over to her. "Make it what you want" was his only requirement. She had ideas. She would change this place. Make it warm and inviting, a shelter and escape for both of them. She'd wash away the pain of past memories so they could make their own happy ones. Except...

"You're beautiful when you frown."

Morgana turned her head. Lancelot had awoken, the giddy smile of joy he'd worn ever since their wedding stretched across his face. She couldn't help but smile back. "Just when I frown?"

Lancelot pushed himself up onto an elbow. "When you're angry, too. We should argue more."

Morgana laughed, snatched up her pillow, and hit him with a solid smack. Lancelot fell back in surprise. "I win."

Lancelot grabbed the pillow and sat up. "Oh, do you, Morgana Pendragon." He tossed the pillow off the bed and pushed up to his knees. "I suppose this means hand to hand combat." He was suddenly upon her. She wiggled and pushed and complained, but didn't fight too hard. After all, where was the fun if she didn't give in a little?

Lancelot pinned her at the sides. She went still, smiling coquettishly and batting her eyelids. He leaned close, warm lips covering hers. He pressed his body close and she ran her hands over his back, the pads of her fingers smoothing over soft flesh and raised scars. She loved this man. Every part of him. Scars and all.

He ran his tongue over her lips and pulled back to stare down at her. "It's not working," he whispered.

She cocked her head.

"Whatever is bothering you. It's still in your eyes."

Morgana huffed. "You're killing the moment."

Lancelot slid down beside her and laced his fingers through her right hand. "We have time aplenty ahead of us, so tell me."

Morgana sighed. His other hand ran through her hair. "I had a dream."

His hand stilled. "Just a dream?"

"I think so." The first thing Aglain had taught her when she consented to his tutelage was that not everything she saw was visionary. Some dreams were only dreams. How to distinguish them? Repetition was the best indicator, Aglain said. The dream she'd had was new. That meant it wasn't a vision. Or was it a first vision? In all likelihood it meant nothing, and she'd waste her precious time with Lancelot obsessing over something that didn't matter.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

"Morgana..." he gently chided. She'd hesitated just a little too long for him not to sense her ambiguity.

"Sometimes it's not clear," she conceded.

"What did you see?"

"It's nothing. Really."

He resumed combing his fingers through her hair. She closed her eyes, relishing his tender touch. "Tell me anyway."

"Don't worry."

"I'm your husband. I promised to carry your burdens like they're my own. Let me."

"It was just a jumble of images, just Arthur and Merlin holding their swords. Freya in her bastet form. And then...a shadow. I think it was a woman, or maybe girl. She knocked on a door and Merlin opened it." She paused long enough Lancelot prompted her.

"That's all?"

"I saw a snake with fangs. It swallowed the Pendragon symbol. And then...Morgause."

"What did she do?"

"She just...stared at me. And I woke up."

Lancelot's hand left her hair. He brushed his thumb gently down her cheek to her neck. "I love you. And I'm here. You never need fear her."

"It was just a dream," she said and curled into him. He kissed her forehead and secured his strong arms around her.

She wanted to feel safe. She _did_ feel safe. At times like this, when in his arms. But they couldn't remain like this forever, sequestered away from the world. Whether the dream was real or not, she knew none of them would ever really be safe. Not until she faced Morgause and assured Camelot's security once and for all.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I know updates have been coming more slowly, with more time in between them than I would like. With my current life circumstances, I wanted to let readers know the chapters will be coming in week and a half to two week intervals. I did discover a great program I want to share called WriteTrack. I'm going to be using it to keep me on a better, more consistent writing schedule!


	99. Cat and Mouse

Only an hour into dinner, and Arthur wished he hadn't let Merlin off. At least with the youth in attendance he could glance at the seat next to his and catch waggling eyebrows or a pea too close to being stuffed in a nose. Merlin always did these things discretely, of course, only meaning to jolt Arthur out of his boredom. He dressed Merlin down afterwards each time but usually ended up chortling in the middle of his lecture. Not exactly the best way to get him to stop. What he wouldn't give for Merlin now. Four kings, two lords, and several ladies were a poor substitute for his ward.

Arthur readjusted in his seat. He hated navigating official dinners, analyzing the thinly veiled boasting, sly insults, and hints of threat. But even those were better than the current topic of conversation. Arthur couldn't manage a bite, too disconcerted by the implications coming from King Olaf. The king's daughter, Vivian, echoed Arthur's discomfort, hands clasped tightly in her lap, posture stiff, body pressed into her seatback as if she wished it would swallow her whole.

"A king's daughter deserves the best. Her husband must be strong, high handed, a man of armies and the sword. A man who knows his allies and his enemies, loyal to the first, ruthless to the second. Like your father. Uther knew well how to employ his sword. He earned fealty and crushed rebellion."

"He used his sword, yes," Arthur replied carefully.

"Do you plan to do the same?"

Arthur met Olaf's challenging gaze. If this man became his father-in-law he'd never be afforded a moment's peace; he'd find the man breathing down his neck at every turn, railing about invasion and pillaging. He cleared his throat. "I plan to use my sword when appropriate. It is my conviction that kings must also be judicious. I will not lead my men into conflicts that risk their lives unnecessarily."

Olaf scoffed. "Uther knew the harshness that darkens our world and the best way to protect his men: employ your sword before your enemy even draws his."

"Such thinking has served your numerous conquests, hasn't it, Olaf?" Bayard's own eyes were alight with challenge.

Olaf glared at him. " _Southern Dwellers_ ," he spat. "We keep the northern barbarians at bay. You are not overrun because of _our_ sacrifice."

"Or perhaps you employ your sword before the enemy can draw his. Begin the fight as well as finish it?"

Olaf began to rise.

"Gentlemen!" Arthur called. "Discussions like these are better reserved when no ladies are present."

Olaf settled back into his seat but seethed at Bayard.

"Yes," Lord Godwyn echoed. "Let us keep the peace. Peace is the better way."

Arthur smiled at the man. For as long as he had known Lord Godwyn, the man had been a good friend to Camelot, though not what one would call a staunch ally. He kept his land excessively neutral. He'd not ever declared himself king, remaining a lord and accepting a lord's more modest wealth and power. There wasn't much need for a heavy hand―he didn't face nearly the same threats the rest of them did. Gawant was a small and less productive land, not a temptation to conquer. Still, they had built up a strong trade port, Gawant's western border being a coast. That was another point in its favor—no one wanted to jeopardize access to the goods Gawant brought in from afar.

Godwyn took his daughter's hand. "I wish for my people nothing but happiness."

Elena squeezed back and smiled at the table, then promptly reached for her goblet and knocked it over. Her cheeks flushed as a servant mopped up the spill. Olaf rolled his eyes; Vivian smirked. Arthur kept himself from smiling at her expense. She'd always been clumsy, but she had a good heart, even if her head wasn't quite clear. Since a child he'd found Elena's simplicity refreshing; her love of pleasure, fun, and little else endearing. Her soul was pure, untainted by the worries of the world. He hoped she ever remained so. At least one person in this world should be afforded the kindness to escape worry and pain.

"Sorry," Elena muttered. Arthur waved to a servant who brought her a new goblet. He caught her eye and nodded at her. She smiled gratefully.

"We would all wish happiness for our people, but such things are rarely achieved in any constant manner. The need for armies and weapons and even war is often a forced necessity." King Rodor spoke with a controlled and subtle force. Arthur had always thought the man's bearing commanded immediate attention and respect. "Since this is the way of things, what is best is to resolve our own disputes so our people suffer less."

Olaf snorted. "And what happens when you can't resolve disputes with talk?"

"As King Arthur has stated, you do as you must. But I would hope none of us would wish our lands at war and our people to suffer."

"Suffering is unavoidable." Odin's voice was dark and low, and his eyes were trained on Arthur. Arthur wondered if the man still nursed a grudge over his son's death. Arthur had been only ten when Camelot clashed with Odin's army. His father had said Odin's son had sought to claim land in the south he assumed unimportant enough that Uther would ignore his incursion. He had attacked without Odin's blessing, and thus had been the author of his own demise. And yet, Odin had cut off any communication with Uther and his kingdom...until now.

"Like the suffering of magic wielders." All attention turned to the voice that had spoken so boldly. Mithian ignored them all except Arthur, her gaze honed in on the king of Camelot. "You've lifted the ban on magic. Why?"

Arthur assessed the kings and Lord Godwyn. They had all stopped eating, frozen in anticipation of his answer. He coughed into his hand. He well knew their individual stances on magic. Bayard didn't allow it, but he didn't punish it harshly. He sent it away elsewhere. Olaf employed sorcerers in secret, including an elite few so loyal to him they'd execute themselves if commanded to. Odin had let many in who had fled from Uther. His father had considered such an action less a support for magic than a way to oppose him. Arthur wasn't sure what Godwyn did with sorcerers who crossed his borders, but there had been rumors of settlements set aside for them. He couldn't imagine the man hurting anyone unless they broke the lawful codes of Gawant. He guessed his father and Godwyn had set aside the issue of magic to maintain their friendship. And then there was Rodor, who, as his daughter had said, let magic wielders live freely in his kingdom, though under strict rule.

"As you all know," Arthur spoke carefully, trying not to glare daggers at the princess who had brought up such a sensitive issue he'd meant to address privately with each king, "Druids live within Camelot's borders. Their most sacred places are within my kingdom. I see no reason to restrict them if they practice their arts quietly."

Several of the kings opened their mouths, but it was Rodor's stately voice that commanded the room. "Let us dispense with pretense. In many respects, Uther was a good king. He protected the lands of Camelot. But his zeal became obsession." He looked apologetically at Arthur. "I mean no insult."

"You are correct," Arthur responded, impressed by Rodor's directness. Maybe what he had seen in Mithian wasn't a peculiar trait. Maybe her straightforward way came from her father. "No man is without error. I lifted the ban to correct my father's."

"And because of your ward?" Bayard's question contained a hint of bitterness. Clearly, he hadn't forgotten the poisoned chalice incident and the unjust accusation that had been originally leveled at him. Arthur felt even more glad he'd excused Merlin from the dinner.

"My ward...Merlin...has done nothing but good since he was attached to my house. So, yes, Merlin did reveal to me the good that can come from sorcery."

"But evil has come from it as well."

Arthur bobbed his head. "Sorcery can be used for evil, of course, as can an army or sword or even words." He pinned each of the kings with a pointed glance, then sent one to Mithian who had that blasted ghost of a smile on her lips again. She seemed to relish the uncomfortable situation she'd put him in. "Each of us wield power that can be turned towards honor or corruption, just as the magic of sorcerers. Magic will be free in my kingdom unless the laws of Camelot are transgressed. Then I swear to you, those who do so will be punished as severely, but as fairly, as any other subject."

"Hear, hear!" Arthur resisted commanding the grating voice that spoke up in support of him to shut up. Odin had brought along Lord Meleagant and his wife to the dinner. Arthur had graciously accommodated―he _hoped_ he'd appeared gracious anyway―without making it clear how much he despised the lord. "Fairness and justice. A right good practice, sire."

Arthur nodded to Meleagant and meant to look away, but the lord raised his goblet. "I drink to the new king of Camelot, a godsend for our age."

The other kings eyed each other, but Odin had quickly raised his goblet and Godwyn right after him. The others slowly held theirs up and they drank.

"We all wish you a prosperous reign, of course," Bayard said. "Our young king is correct that war is better left until necessary, and I assume none of us here would dare to challenge him and uproot what rapport we have achieved."

Arthur didn't let the relief he felt at the show of support color on his expression. He hadn't been sure about Bayard, but the implication of his words meant he intended to remain an ally of Camelot.

"You know what I most remember about Camelot?" Lord Meleagant had pushed himself into the conversation again and Arthur slowly turned his head to the young man. "Uther rarely talked business around a table, not to _us_. I recall glorious hunts, the excitement of the kill a backdrop to tedious negotiation." Arthur clenched his fingers around his goblet at Meleagant making himself in any way equal to the other men at his table, though the lord was right that his father had often arranged hunts. Uther thought a hunt provided a more open and relaxed atmosphere, one that made his royal and noble visitors more malleable.

"Oh, a hunt! That would be _thrilling_!" Elena exclaimed, then noted the amusement her exclamation produced around the table. "I mean, the riding would be. I _love_ riding." Godwyn smiled at her with fatherly pride. Vivian huffed and rolled her eyes. Arthur couldn't see her participating in a hunt even if her life depended on it.

"I agree with Elena. A hunt would be a most welcome distraction." Mithian was looking straight at him again. His heart stuttered.

"King Arthur may not wish to hunt," Rodor spoke quietly to his daughter.

"I enjoy hunting very much," Arthur insisted, speaking before thinking.

"A man's environment," Olaf said huskily. "A spear and the chase." He grinned widely at the men around the table. "A much better place to make plans for the future."

"The Valley of the Fallen Kings is rich with prey in the spring." The quiet voice startled them all. Meleagant's wife bowed her head. "My father hunted there once."

"It is," Arthur spoke hastily, feeling the need to come to her defense. The poor thing hadn't found her voice all dinner. Someone should bolster her. "It was one of my father's favorite places to hunt."

"So what say you, my lord? Will you entertain your guests to their satisfaction?" Mithian had locked her eyes on him again.

"Well, I won't come if you do," Vivian proclaimed.

Olaf snorted. "No one would dare make you, daughter."

Laughter twittered around the table to Vivian's consternation by her sour expression. The atmosphere seemed to relax a bit.

"Why not?" Bayard said. "I'll share the expense. Perhaps we can accomplish more out there than we'll ever manage in here."

There were silent nods, and Arthur capitulated. "A hunt, I think, might do us all much good." He didn't miss Mithian tilting her head and raising her brows. He wasn't sure what thoughts whirred behind that expression. _I'll consider you_ , she'd said. Was giving in to his guests a good or bad thing? She'd approved of the idea of a hunt, so she would like him giving in, right? Or maybe she'd only said that to test if he'd let others sway his decisions?

Arthur turned away from her. Infernal woman. He couldn't figure her out any more than Gwen.

* * *

"And he wants me to ask around, find out what I can," Merlin said around a mouthful of greens. He tore a piece of meat off his chicken leg and nudged it against the beak of Nero, who kept pecking at his plate for treats.

"Won't that be difficult?" Gaius asked. "I hardly think the lords and ladies in the courts of the kings would be so eager to reveal their thoughts to the king's warlock." He stuffed his own set of greens into his mouth and chewed with his characteristic right eyebrow raised.

"I'm not going to talk to the lords or ladies, just the servants."

"Won't they be even more afraid of you?" Daegal queried. The young lad who had taken over Merlin's job of helping Gaius had already finished his meal and was grinding herbs.

"Not all. Some of the kings allow magic in their kingdoms. And some use sorcerers but keep them secret. I'm going to figure out who they are."

"Careful, Merlin," Gaius warned. "Remember like you, some of them might be desperate to keep the truth hidden."

"I'm not going to harm them or anything."

"But they don't know that."

"Arthur says I have a disarming way about me. They'll talk to me."

Gaius sighed. "I think becoming Arthur's ward has turned your confidence towards arrogance."

Merlin watched as Gaius stood, carrying his empty bowl to a wash bucket. His confidence? Half the time he wasn't sure of anything. He'd been taught a bunch about how courts and lords and ladies worked, but it was so different juggling them from the inside than observing them from the outside. He felt out of place most of the time, a duckling among swans. Vicious swans. That had teeth. He still did the best he could for Arthur, but he couldn't shake the fear some day he'd foul up badly and betray the man's trust.

Daegal caught his eye. "I don't think you're arrogant. I think you'll get them to talk."

Gaius snorted but didn't argue. Daegal smiled at Merlin and rolled his eyes in Gaius' direction. Merlin stifled a laugh. The boy had a good nature. He'd been an orphan shuffled from home to home until Leon granted him an opportunity beyond his wildest imaginings. He was often overawed by his royal surroundings and still couldn't manage to speak whenever Arthur was in the room, staring at the king like a wide-eyed child who had met the hero of his favorite fairy tale. Merlin, on the other hand, had made friends with the lad easily.

Daegal's gaze flicked to Gaius who had moved on to checking his drying herbs. He dropped his pestle, stepping over to a table littered with books. He retrieved a sheet of parchment, then dashed over to hand it to Merlin.

Merlin stared at him quizzically. Daegal nodded to the creased paper, then moved back to the bench, getting back to crushing the herbs before Gaius turned around. Merlin read the letter and his mouth curled into a wide smile.

"You're looking for her!" he exclaimed.

Gaius looked up with a frown that quickly melted into an expression of consternation. "How did you find that?"

Merlin held up the letter. "You're looking for her," he repeated.

Gaius walked over and snatched the letter from his hands. "I wanted to know how she is."

"You love her."

Gaius shambled back towards his worktable, pausing to smack Daegal across the back of the head with the parchment. "Little imp. You're thick as thieves with him. Up before sunrise tomorrow. I need more herbs."

" _More_?" Daegal moaned as Gaius reached his worktable. He sighed, but smiled at Merlin again.

"Gaius," Merlin said, "you really do love her, don't you?"

Gaius set down the parchment but didn't return to working on whatever concoction he'd been mixing before dinner. "Too much time has passed for love, my boy, but I do wonder what has become of her."

The sender of the letter had written that he didn't know the whereabouts of his Aunt Alice. He hadn't seen her since he was a child.

"If you did find her, would you _consider_ courting her?"

Gaius snorted. "I'm old and crippled."

"You're not crippled," Merlin shot back.

Gaius settled onto a tall stool at his worktable. Nero fluttered over to him and Gaius ran a stiff hand over his feathers. The kestrel spent most of its time with the physician these days when he wasn't flying. Merlin couldn't be jealous of the bird's love for Gaius. They seemed to need each other. "But I am reaching the end of the days allotted for me."

"I hate it when you talk like that," Merlin mumbled, picking at the rest of the food on his plate.

"It's reality. Death is the way of the world."

"I wish I could stop time forever." What little skill he did have to slow time only lasted seconds, maybe a minute at most.

"That would be too much power for any man. I shudder to think what evil might be accomplished if affecting time was so easy."

"I don't want you to die," Merlin spoke quietly.

Gaius smiled gently at him. "There's still some life left in me. Alice, though... Well, she may have gone on before me."

"Gaius," Merlin breathed. He hadn't even thought of that. Gaius was pretty old. Alice had been close to his age. She could be dead and buried by now. "I didn't think...I'm sorry..."

Gaius waved a hand at him. "I've thought it for many years now. Seeing her again might be impossible, but I'd still like to discover what happened to her."

Merlin rolled a piece of bread between his fingers. He couldn't imagine life without Freya. What if she had to take off and leave him? The bread went down like dust when Merlin popped it in his mouth and he sipped water from his wooden cup. He wouldn't ever let Freya go without him. If she had to, he'd go, too. He'd...abandon Arthur. He swallowed hard. No. He couldn't do that. He'd almost done that once because of her, but Kilgharrah and Gaius had convinced him to stay. And Arthur _had_ needed him, needed him still.

Merlin looked up at Gaius, now gone back to his concoction. The physician's eyes glowed briefly. At least Gaius could use magic now. Merlin had wondered over the years how Gaius could stay with Uther considering his denial and mistreatment of magic. Gaius regretted many of those years now and recognized he could have done more than he did. But Merlin found he suddenly understood. Even when Arthur had hated magic, Merlin couldn't have left him. There was always the hope for change. Gaius had hoped to, for Uther, and then failing that, for Arthur. And in the end, that hope had been rewarded.

"I hope you find her alive," Merlin said.

"If I do," Gaius said, "that will be more blessing than I expect to receive."

Merlin meant to reply, but boots pounded in the hall and the door to the physician's chamber hit the wall. Will rushed in.

"Gwaine's hurt!"

Gaius ambled over immediately. Merlin jumped to his feet. Percival and Elyan had appeared, Gwaine supported between them. Gaius gestured them over to a cot.

"Fear stricken clotpoles," Gwaine groaned as they set him down. "It's just a scratch."

Percival rolled up Gwaine's right trouser leg to the knee to reveal a white cloth wrapped around his calf.

Merlin wandered over to watch as Gaius undid the bandage. "What happened?"

"He took on _three_ bandits all by himself," Will exuded, eyes shining. Merlin often thought Will had been born for the life of a knight. Nothing seemed to dampen his eagerness for it, not even the idea of getting stabbed in a fight. "Spanked them soundly."

"They spanked back," Gwaine hissed between clenched teeth.

"Yeah, but you walloped 'em so good only one got away."

Merlin flinched when the wound was revealed, immediately identifying the problem. "It's infected."

"He was all right yesterday," Elyan said, pulling over a stool and sagging down in exhaustion. "We washed the wound. Bound it with myrrh."

Gaius nodded sagely. "You did well, but it is infected." His brow creased. "Any sorcerers among the bandits?"

"None used magic," Percival answered.

"Hm," Gaius intoned.

"What is it?" Merlin asked.

"The edges of the wound. Quite exact. Not the kind of injury I'd expect in the chaos of a fight. Like the blade that caused it was guided."

Merlin worked his jaw. He hated when one of his own used magic to hurt others. The number of unscrupulous bands utilizing sorcerers had grown since the ban had been lifted.

Daegal had anticipated Gaius needs and materialized with a bowl of water. Gaius soaked a rag and dabbed at Gwaine's wound. The knight gasped and grit his teeth. Percival, holding Gwaine's hand, winced at how tightly Gwaine squeezed. Once the pus had been cleansed, Gaius went to work applying medicines. Then he placed a hand over the wound and whispered a few words. Gwaine lay back on the cot with a sigh. The wound remained, but Gaius' spell did the work of taking away the worst of the pain and clearing the infection.

Percival stood. "I'll get Sefa."

"No!" Gwaine exclaimed, sitting up. "She'll worry."

"She'd want to know," Elyan said.

"She will know. But I'll tell her. You're not going to make me stay here, right, Gaius?"

Gaius shook his head. "Though once you get home, stay off your feet for a couple days." Gaius patted his shoulder. "Rest, Sir Gwaine."

Gwaine beamed. "Banished to my bed. I can do that." His eyebrows waggled.

Gaius scowled at the man, and Merlin snickered. After the knight had married Sefa, he hadn't left the house Arthur gifted him for a week, and even then, for a month after that, he'd rushed back home the second he was let off duties.

" _Rest_ ," Gaius repeated. "That means no activity. Not even _that_."

Gwaine's bottom lip stuck out like a pouting child. Elyan slapped his shoulder. "She can last a couple says without you."

"But I've already been gone three."

Elyan rolled his eyes. Percival guffawed. Merlin grinned. Life would dim too much in Camelot if Gwaine ever did manage to die.

Gaius finished tying up a new bandage. Percival and Elyan helped Gwaine stand and stuck him between them again against his protests as they made their way to the armory. Merlin bid farewell to Gaius and Daegal and followed them out, figuring it was time to get on with his own duties. Several of the visiting kings' guards had set up makeshift fires outside the Camelot barracks where they could eat and chat when they weren't on duty. He'd mingle amongst the servants assigned to them.

"I'm beat," Will said as he pulled up next to Merlin. "Want to go to the tavern?"

"Thought you weren't supposed to set foot in it for a month."

Will shrugged. "Lancelot's not here."

Lancelot had banned Will from the tavern right before his wedding after having to come haul the squire out of it after a fight. Will had gotten himself drunk and someone had made some comment about common knights and Will had gone off on them. Lancelot had lectured Will about how responding to anything like that was foolish and just made civilians think worse of commoners becoming knights. He'd been given a stern order to keep out of the tavern and then made to run ten laps around the arena.

"Don't break your word," Merlin warned.

Will sighed. "Yeah. Knights' honor. All right. I won't. But what else can we do to have some fun around here?"

"Library?"

" _Merlin_."

Merlin smirked. "Find one of the ladies you love so much and play Merels."

Will brightened. "I haven't talked to Nikole in a while."

The three knights ahead turn off into a hallway. Merlin stopped walking.

"What is it?" Will asked.

"Look, just be careful. I know you like all this knight stuff, and you're good with weapons, really good, but this isn't Ealdor. You have to be careful what you do and how you do it."

"Maybe _you_ do. I'm not the king's ward."

"But you represent Camelot and that means Arthur, too."

"Yeah, Arthur," Will grumbled.

"He's your king."

"I know that. It's just that's all you ever care about. Always Arthur."

"He's my purpose," Merlin defended.

"Yeah. Well, don't forget life is also about you. Not everything has to be about Arthur."

Merlin bit back a sour reply. He hated arguing with Will. It usually ended with both of them upset and Will refusing to speak for him for a day or two. The last time they'd had it out, Arthur had advised him arguments took two people.

Merlin walked on. Will kept pace with him, but they fell into silence. Maybe Lancelot had counseled Will just like Arthur had counseled him. As they approached a corner, they heard heated voices, then a sharp thwack and a whimper. A figure barreled around the corner, running right into them. Merlin caught the figure by the arm. It was Meleagant's dark haired wife, heavy tears leaking from her eyes.

"My lord!" she gasped. She bowed her head and curtsied awkwardly, a shaking hand going to a reddened cheek. "I-I'm sorry." She gulped air and Merlin could tell she was trying not to cry.

"Who hurt you?" Will demanded.

Lami barely raised her eyes but looked at Merlin when she answered. "N-no one, my lord."

"If anyone..." Will began.

Merlin gripped Will's sleeve to halt the rest of his speech. He let Lami go and stepped around the corner. Lord Meleagant was marching away down the corridor, back to him. Will stepped to his side. Merlin peered back over his shoulder. "My lady, we can..."

Lami had disappeared. Fled. Merlin's veins burned, his magic rising. He stared at Meleagant's retreating back nearing the end of the corridor. His fingers prickled, and he fought an urge to shoot a jet of fire square into the retreating lord. Maybe Meleagant didn't need to attack any of the women in the castle anymore. Maybe he had a slave of a wife to do whatever he wanted, to punish if she refused. For a brief moment, he imagined Lami clutching the arms of a chair, her flesh marked by the welts of a rod. His eyes flamed. Meleagant stumbled and hit the ground with a thud, barely managing to catch himself with his palms. Will made to run down the hall, but Merlin hauled him back around the corner.

"That's all you're going to do?" Will hissed.

Merlin put a finger to his lips.

"Let me go," Will demanded, pulling away.

"Stop!" Merlin commanded, jerking him back. "You do anything and you'll cause a lot of trouble for Arthur. Meleagant's noble. You can't go after him."

"So we're just going to let him get away with hurting her?"

Merlin ground his jaw. "I didn't say that."

"What are you going to do?" Will asked eagerly.

Merlin peeked back down the hall. Meleagant had picked himself up and limped away. "Trust me, I'll think of something."

* * *

It felt so good getting out of armor. Not that he didn't like wearing it. The way Sefa looked at him with that light in her eyes when he was all bedecked in mail and cape made it worth the effort. That and not getting gutted. Truth be told, he would have been dead without it. He hadn't just taken that one stab in the leg. _Two_ bandits had jabbed him right in the chest, but the mail did its job. Still didn't mean it didn't feel like a breath of fresh air when the armor came off.

Gwaine lay along an armory bench and closed his eyes. A hand pulled at his arm. "I'll sleep here."

Percival continued to tug him until he was upright again. "Your bed would be better."

"Sefa's there," Gwaine said through a yawn. "She'll worry."

Elyan appeared in front of him with a rag. "Let her worry. It means she loves you."

"Yeah," Gwaine spoke groggily, his lips stretching into a broad grin.

"He's almost delirious," Elyan said as Percival worked Gwaine's shirt off. Elyan went to work, wiping at his face and chest. Gwaine closed his eyes, thinking idly they wouldn't do this unless they planned to take him home. Wanted to get him a bit cleaner before dumping him on his wife. Despite his protests, he really did want to see her. Aches and pains always faded away in her arms. And there was the secret, too, that they shared just between them.

Gwaine grinned to himself, and Percival snorted and shook him by the shoulder. "I'm still here," Gwaine murmured.

"Thought you might be falling into a dream." Percival chuckled.

He was actually. A daytime one. He was thinking of Sefa the day he'd left on the patrol, making him breakfast, staring coyishly across the table, more reserved than usual. She was quiet in front of everyone but him. With him she chattered almost nonstop. He loved the tone and cadence of her voice. He could have listened for hours on end.

The morning of the patrol, he'd assured her they only intended to make a routine scan of the surrounding area, assuming she worried. When she'd kissed him right before he strode out their door, she'd said softly, "You'd better take care of yourself. Our child will need his father."

Gwaine had stared like a gaping fish, then laughed and cheered and lifted her off the ground to kiss her again. He'd laid his hand on her belly. Just a little growth there, not much, but she was certain of the pregnancy.

Gwaine grinned a third time. He _did_ want to get home. To his wife. And his _child_. Imagine him, a father. He'd never really contemplated being a father. A husband, maybe, but not a father. But he would be. And he wanted to be. He wanted to care for another human bring, make his life good, give him everything he never had.

Elyan had just finished washing his back, when the sound of someone clearing his throat interrupted.

"Ex-cuse me," a man's voice spoke hesitantly. "I'm looking for Sir Gwaine?"

Gwaine opened his eyes. The man was older than him by a few years, moving towards firm middle age. Solid physique, toned muscles evident under his maroon shirt. His bearing was noble and he wore his beard trimmed quite severely, in thin strips gracing his cheeks, lip, and chin. Gwaine remembered the style from his childhood. All in all, he was pretty sure this man wasn't from Camelot. Not surprising, considering how many had lingered after Lancelot and Morgana's wedding. What did surprise him was anyone looking for him. He hadn't known a soul outside of Camelot that had come to the wedding, except... Wait. Hadn't he played dice with a few visitors? Won a fair bit of coin. Uh oh.

"I didn't cheat," he exclaimed, recalling a particularly contentious match. "It's not my fault a fool and his money are soon parted."

Percival took a step towards the man. "If you have a problem with Gwaine, we can discuss it."

"We're not going to discuss anything," Gwaine protested. He'd begun to stand, but Elyan locked onto his shoulder and kept him on the bench.

The man held up his hands palms outwards. "I didn't make any bets with you."

Gwaine narrowed his eyes. "What do you want then?"

The man's eyes flicked between Percival and Elyan. "I would like to speak to you privately."

Percival moved closer to Gwaine, hand on his sword hilt. Elyan held tighter to his shoulder. "Why?" Gwaine queried.

The man stretched out his arms. "I'm unarmed."

"Boots?" Gwaine pointed at the man's black, shiny boots that reached to his knee.

The man leaned over and tugged both boots off revealing white-stockinged feet. He then untucked his shirt and raised it to unveiling the rippling abs Gwaine had expected. "Should I remove my trousers as well?"

Gwaine chuckled. "You're unarmed. Doesn't matter anyway. I could take you even if you weren't."

The man smiled, an amused smile showing white teeth. It was a good smile and an oddly familiar one. "You haven't changed that much, have you?"

"How do I know you?"

"Can we speak alone? Your friends may remain outside if they wish."

"Gwaine?" Elyan asked.

Gwaine waved a hand at his friends. "Go. Take care of yourselves. I can handle him."

They slowly backed away and out the door. The man tucked in his shirt again, then sat down on the floor to slide on his boots.

"You can sit on the bench," Gwaine said.

"This is fine." When the man finished, he didn't get back up, just steepled his knees and stared at Gwaine. "You don't remember me."

Gwaine scrutinized the man's dark eyes, chestnut hair, solid physique. "Did we get in a fight?"

The man laughed. "No. We never did. How's your injury? I saw them bring you through the courtyard. I thought it couldn't be you. But I asked around. It's you for certain."

"I'm fine. Except I still don't know who you are."

The man took a deep breath. "I've wondered all these years what happened to you. It's me, Gwaine. Gaheris."

Gwaine's heart hammered against his ribs and his lips whispered, "Gaheris." An image from the past flashed through his mind―a young prince leaping in front of him, drawing his sword to face down his own father and defend his half-brother. Gwaine rose from the bench. Gaheris mirrored him, standing, and Gwaine stumbled across to him, clasping him round the shoulders, taking in the golden flecks in the irises, the rounded chin, the nose a little too small, the freckles dotting his neck. He pulled the man into an embrace and patted him heartily on the back. "Gaheris!"

Gaheris laughed, slapping Gwaine on the back as well. When they parted, Gwaine gestured to the bench and they sat down together.

"What are you doing here?" Gwaine queried.

Gaheris rubbed at the back of his head. "We came in this morning."

"This morning?" That meant Gaheris hadn't been at the wedding.

"Yes. Gwaine, I know what happened all those years ago..."

Gwaine stopped him with a hand slapped against his knee. "I never got to thank you. Thank you. I heard what happened after."

Gaheris' Adam's apple bobbed. "About that... I _was_ disinherited. I took off on my own for a while, saw Cornwall for myself. It was good actually. And then... Did you hear Gareth died?"

Gwaine nodded slowly. "Some scuffle at the border of Camelot."

"Yes. I lost him."

"I'm sorry, but Camelot wasn't responsible, you know. From what I heard, it was all Gareth's fault."

"It was. He was always a fool, rushing headlong to pursue his own ideas, doing whatever father said not to do. I'm not angry with Camelot."

Gwaine sighed inwardly in relief. Too many people had shown up in Camelot seeking retribution against Arthur for things that he hadn't any part in.

"After Gareth died, Geleon was the heir to the throne, but... he's gone mad. They won't let him out of the castle. They've tried curing him even with magic, but he won't heal. He's confined to a room, raving night and day."

Gwaine barely remembered the second son of the king, didn't really care all that much, but the way Gaheris talked... "You make it sound like you're living in the castle."

Gaheris sucked in both his lips, then blow out a long breath. "I am. Father sought me out. His last heir."

Gwaine jumped up from the bench. "You went _back_? After what he did?"

Gaheris stood. "Please listen."

"He slaughtered my mother!"

"I can explain."

"There's nothing to explain!"

"Gwaine, he didn't kill your mother!"

Gwaine backed away from the bench. "I saw him."

"It was an accident. We didn't see what we thought we saw."

"What do you mean?" Gwaine growled.

"Do you know why father went to see your mother?"

"To kill her and me."

Gaheris shook his head. "That wasn't the reason for his visit. He didn't go there to kill anyone. He went there to bring you home to the castle. He was going to officially declare you his son."

Gwaine's head spun and his stomach knotted.

"I knew she wouldn't let you go, and I tried to get there as fast as I could, but before I made it, she tried to stop him. He had his dagger out, just to show her he meant to take you even if by force, but she fought him and grabbed it and...fell on it."

Gwaine couldn't breathe. He remembered hearing quiet voices, then loud shouts from under his bed in his room where his mother had ordered he hide. And then he'd peeked out, saw his mother go down... "How do you know that's what happened?"

"When I got to your house, I assumed he'd attacked your mother, too. I fought him and you ran... Father told me what happened right then. I yelled at him, told him it never would have happened if he hadn't done it that way. I went looking for you, but I couldn't find you. So I went back home, got my horse, and rode out of the gates"

"He tried to kill me," Gwaine whispered.

"He didn't."

Gwaine's memory whirled, seeing the king pull the dagger from his mother's body, her blood dripping down its length. The king took a step towards him as he emerged from under the bed... Gaheris rushed in, screaming, drawing his own sword, attacking the king. The king stabbed his son... And Gwaine ran when Gaheris shouted to, a coward saving his own life.

"He didn't try to kill you," Gaheris spoke softly. "He didn't mean your mother to die. And he didn't want to hurt me. He defended himself when _I_ attacked him."

Gwaine staggered towards the door. Footsteps followed. Gwaine swung around. "Stay away from me."

"Please..."

"Stay away!"

"Father's here. I know he'll want to see you. You can..."

"Odin isn't my father! He'll never be my father!" Gwaine slammed his fist into the solid wood door, then bolted into the hall, fixating on the pain throbbing in his hand and leg, willing it to fill his mind instead of the pile of horse shit his face had just been rubbed in.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Merels is a medieval strategy game played with a grid on a board and black and white game pieces.


	100. Turnabout Is Fair Play

**Author's Note:** Phew. This chapter was a long time coming. I ended up having to set this story aside for a while to get lesson plans done for a couple classes I am teaching in the fall term. Thank you to all my readers for being so patient with me! The good news is lesson plans are completed and my time has been reclaimed again. A huge cheer to all of you as well for sticking with this fic and getting to chapter 100! I never though this fic would get this long and it's been a joy to interact with you all as I've written. Once again, a million thanks for all the follows, reviews and PMs. You all rock!

* * *

Morgana tried to ignore the moist air clinging to her messy curls and closed her eyes. She drew in a deep breath and was momentarily distracted by the scent of the heavy fresh blooms surrounding her. Exquisite beauty. In such a place as this. Lancelot's mother had directed the planting and caring of her gardens with obsessive supervision. Lancelot thought the gardens had been his mother's way to control something in her life and to avoid the vicious outbursts of his father. Out of love for his mother, Lancelot had commanded the gardens maintained even though he'd kept away from the lands of his childhood as much as possible.

Morgana folded her hands, concentrated, and _pushed_. Her mind grew fuzzy and fled the garden. She'd managed this much with Aglain, and sometimes Nimueh, as her guide. She felt incorporeal, floating in a dark sea. Voices whispered in her ear, but she couldn't pick out individual words. _Concentrate_ , she willed herself. _Push_ _harder_. A vision appeared—a swarm of color and movement. Talking. Voices saying... what? _Listen._ She strained, pushed further...snapped back into her mind and fell forward, barely catching herself by bracing her palms against the heavy square of carpet she'd hauled outside.

"You're up again."

Morgana gulped in several breaths, unable to answer the voice next to her. She was unsurprised when a hand twined through her locks but stopped when it caught on a mess of snags. She hadn't allowed herself a moment this morning to run a brush through her hair or even change into a presentable gown. She must look a sight kneeling in the center of a copse of rose bushes in her dressing gown. She turned when she'd regained her breath and ran her fingers over Lancelot's jaw. "Intuitive, aren't you?"

Lancelot leaned forward in his crouch, gently kissed her, and saw right through her casual reply. "Your dream?" He seated himself in the grass since there was no room on the small, rectangular carpet.

"Your trousers!"

Lancelot looked down. "I've dealt with far worse than a soggy bottom." They shared a smile. "Now. Your dream?"

Morgana looked to the east and the sun just peeping its head above the horizon. "It wasn't the same dream."

"What this time?"

She didn't answer his question. Instead, she took in her surroundings, then leaned her head into his shoulder."I want to stay here forever."

"You can."

Arthur would let her. He'd said as much on their wedding day, when he'd gifted her his mother's brooch. She'd claimed she wouldn't let him rule Camelot alone. Oh, but how she wished she could! "I did dream. Some of it was good."

Lancelot didn't speak, affording her a pause to think before she continued.

"I saw Morgause. She embraced me. She wept. She told me how much I look like our mother. I barely remember my mother. Only impressions." Morgana laid a hand across her collarbone. "She loves me. She never meant to hurt me, I'm sure of it. I'm her sister. She only wanted to help me."

Lancelot shifted to wrap an arm around her back. "She desecrated your father's corpse, dragged his soul back to his body, and took you away from me."

"Yes," Morgana whispered.

"She took you twice."

"I asked the second time."

"Only because you thought you couldn't be forgiven."

"She was wrong. She _is_ wrong. But that doesn't mean she didn't care. Don't be angry, but I don't hate her. I've tried and I can't. I understand her too much."

"So do I."

Morgana craned her neck up to look at Lancelot staring at her. "I thought you'd despise her."

"I wouldn't hesitate to battle her, but I understand why Morgause hates the Pendragons. Uther hurt so many. He killed everyone who meant something to her."

"He hurt Mordred, too."

Lancelot frowned. "Y-es..."

"You hesitate."

Lancelot sighed. "I know Mordred suffered greatly because of Uther's knights, but Arthur saved him. He of all should know Arthur's true heart."

"He refuses to see it. Hate has made him blind. I tried to tell him, but..." Morgana suddenly sat up, rubbing furiously at her eyes. "I hate him sometimes when I think about what he did to Arthur, but most of the time I feel sorry for him because..."

"Because of what Uther did to you."

"Yes! I can't blame Morgause _or_ Mordred. I know the pain and the anger. I wanted Uther dead. If I'd had to carry what they have all these years I might have found a way to utterly destroy the Pendragons."

"But you didn't."

"Because I had you and Gwen and Merlin. All of you gave me hope. You stopped the cold and selfish woman living inside me from getting her revenge."

Lancelot swiveled back into a crouch and grasped her shoulders. "You are not cold and selfish."

"I could be—"

"We could all be like Morgause or Mordred. We could hold grudges and let hate dominate us. It's about choice, and you made the right one. You stopped Mordred, you saved Arthur, and you confessed. You humbled yourself. They haven't." He ran his hands down her arms, then pulled her to a stand and into an embrace. "You are a stubborn, independent, indomitable woman, Morgana du Lac. And you will do great things."

Morgana pushed back the tears that threaten to loose and buried her head farther into Lancelot's chest. When he continued to speak, his voice was barely audible.

"I thought of killing my father once. I went to his chamber when I'd healed enough to stand on the leg he broke. He'd returned from battle. He lay in is bed, heavily asleep. I could have picked up the ornamental pillow from the chair aside the door, walked up to the bed, and smothered him, held him down until he stopped struggling."

Morgana gazed up at her husband. His eyes had focused elsewhere, not seeing the gardens anymore.

"I understand you. I understand Morgause and Mordred." He refocused on her. "But I won't hesitate to stop them."

"They must be planning something out there somewhere."

"What more did you see?"

"After Morgause, another creature. Not the snake again. This time a scorpion as large as a horse. I think there may have been more than one. It tried to attack me."

"That's all?"

Morgana nodded.

"Just a dream?"

Morgana pushed back from him. "That's what I was trying to discover. I have to make myself see." She scrubbed at her brow. "Only I can't! All these months trying to do so with Aglain. I need Taliesin. And he's not here anymore. If he were here, I could do it."

"It's not your fault. Aglain says it's because your training in seeing has come later."

Morgana paced away from him in frustration. "I have to see because I _have_ to find Morgause first."

"What do you mean?" Lancelot asked warily.

"Before she does anything, I have to find her and go to her. Talk to her."

His hand was on her shoulder, gently turning her. "I don't think that's a good idea. She..."

"She'll listen to me. I can tell her what Arthur's doing for Camelot. She can see she misread him."

"She didn't listen to you before."

Morgana stared at Lancelot. He didn't understand, not entirely. Going to a confirmed enemy made no real sense to him. She couldn't blame him. It really didn't sound smart from his point of view. "All right, maybe I don't have to talk to her. But she will return. And maybe I can see where she is first and tell Arthur."

Lancelot considered her for a moment. "How can I aid you?"

"I'm not sure. Sit with me?"

"My pleasure, my lady." He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. Then he supported her as she settled back onto the carpet.

Morgana closed her eyes, ignoring her discomfort at already hiding a secret from her husband. She'd make herself see, and then she _would_ go to Morgause. She could talk some sense into her before she went after Arthur or Merlin or Camelot again. And if Morgause didn't see sense, she'd just stop whatever her sister had planned before it could even get started.

* * *

The door to the dilapidated lower town tavern screeched open, striking Percival with its stark dissimilarity to the well-oiled door of the upper town establishment. He'd grown too used to the luxury of a knight. Despite the common perception, the buildings in this part of town weren't willfully neglected, just the people living here had to work harder and oiling door hinges rated lower on the list of priorities than survival.

"He hasn't gotten drunk since he became knight," Elyan muttered at Percival's elbow. "If we find him here..."

Percival nodded. "Something is very wrong."

They'd already checked Gwaine's usual haunts, and finding them deserted, moved onto his past retreats—taverns. Gwaine had accompanied the knights to the upper town tavern now and then, but ever since he'd married Sefa, he hadn't lingered long. Love had proven even stronger than liquor for their friend. Gwaine hadn't been drowning himself in the upper town tavern, so they started down the list of other taverns, finally arriving in the lower town. Percival surveyed the rickety chairs and stained tables of the current establishment. If Gwaine had wanted to drink and hide at the same time, this would have been a good choice, but none of the men passed out at tables bore the form of the knight.

"He's not here," Elyan sighed.

"No." The patrons were sparse. Early morning. Most of the imbibers would have gone home last night or in the dark hours of morning.

"Sirs?"

Percival's attention turned to the bar at the back of the room. A man with dark rings under his eyes held a dirty cloth, presumably the owner wiping up from the reveling of the night before.

"We were looking for someone..."

"My Lord Knights," the owner said, stumbling over himself as he left his bar and bowed awkwardly to them. Elyan shifted uncomfortably next to Percival. He still hadn't gotten used to the way they were so respected, couldn't totally believe he deserved it.

"You. Here." The owner beamed. "Blessed heavens. When he walked in last night, I thought me eyes played tricks!"

Percival shared a glance with Elyan. "Who?" Elyan asked.

"The other Sir Knight. You're the ones? The ones who helped King Arthur stop the troll?"

Percival nodded. That story seemed to have spread like wildfire all over the capital. They'd been asked for the tale more times than they could count.

"I've got him here. I don't know what was wrong. He didn't say much. Drank a lot. But I knew he couldn't get home. Let 'im sleep here." The owner walked briskly to a curtain behind his bar and pulled it back. Percival followed and peering in beheld Gwaine sprawled out on a cot, mouth open, drool dribbling down into his bushy scruff. In the past, such a sight might have been humorous. Now it only filled him with sorrow.

Percival knelt down. Gwaine was absent his shirt. Unsurprising. They had checked the armory and searched the citadel before tackling the vast capital. Gwaine's shirt had been laying in the armory where it had been discarded the day before.

"Thank you," Elyan said behind him, beginning to retrieve some coins from his pouch.

The owner held up his hands palms outwards. "No, no. Least I could do."

"Still," Elyan said, pushing the coins into one of the owner's palms. "We're grateful."

The owner's fingers curled around the coins. "Heaven bless you, Sir Knights."

"If you'll excuse us..." Percival prompted.

"Yes. Yes." The man bowed his head once more and withdrew, drawing the curtain.

Percival found a somewhat unsoiled rag to wipe at Gwaine's mouth. "He hasn't been murdered."

Elyan grunted. When they first couldn't find their friend, Elyan had worried that the man who had tracked Gwaine down in the armory actually _was_ wrathful over a game of chance and might have gotten his revenge. But the man's clothing had been respectable, though foreign, and they soon concluded he was allied with Odin. Gwaine hadn't played any games with Odin's men. When they approached Odin's camp outside the walls, they were summarily turned away, Odin's guards incensed at the implication they might have absconded with a Camelot knight. Elyan had wanted to go to Arthur then, but Percival had suggested they continue searching for a time. They'd pull in Arthur as a last resort.

Percival tapped Gwaine's cheek. "Gwaine. Wake up."

For a moment, there was no movement, then a fluttering of eyelids, and finally, a goofy smile. "Percival," Gwaine slurred.

"My friend, what have you done to yourself?" Percival slid his hand underneath Gwaine's back and pushed the man to a sitting position. Gwaine groaned.

"Why did you run off?" Elyan questioned irritably. "We thought you might be dead!"

Percival nailed Elyan with a glare. This was not the time for a lecture. Old habits died hard, though, and Elyan had always been pretty good at finding fault and expressing it.

"Well, I did anyway," Elyan backtracked.

Gwaine rubbed the top of his head, yawned, then looked at them with watery eyes. "He's not my father."

Percival tilted his head. "Who?"

"Not my father," Gwaine repeated. "Not gonna ever be my father. Kill him if I get the chance. Duel. Something."

Percival frowned. Whatever had happened, it wasn't good.

"We're not going to get much out of him," Elyan observed.

Percival nodded. "We can't take him home like this." He wrapped an arm around Gwaine's back.

Elyan sighed, then did the same, and they hauled Gwaine from the backroom between them.

* * *

Merlin rose from his seat on a bench and wiped sweating hands along his trousers when a pair of figures emerged through an arched gate.

"Are you still sure about this?" Gwen asked, still sitting. "I think it really might be better to tell Arthur."

"He has to stay out of it."

"Maybe you should, too."

Merlin whirled on her. "And let Meleagant mistreat his wife?"

"Arthur could find a way to stop him."

"Won't work."

"Merlin—"

"It wouldn't! I know the law. I've studied it until I want to kill myself to get out of the boredom. There's nothing Arthur can do. And if _he_ makes the threat... It's just not something he can do. But I can."

Gwen nodded tightly. She'd only agreed to come because his plan wasn't really all that bad. If she played her part, they really could bring Arthur in.

Merlin turned back to the approaching figures. Truth was, he _did_ feel a stab of guilt. He and Arthur had vowed to tackle important matters together, but Arthur also faced a scrutiny he didn't. He could cover for Arthur, use his newfound position to make things right. Wasn't Arthur always chiding him to stop thinking like a peasant and start thinking like a noble? And hadn't he said to play the game well? Well, in this game, Meleagant was his opponent, and the lord had stepped over the line. It was Meleagant's turn to experience someone higher than him calling him to account. _This_ confrontation wouldn't end with Merlin bent over a chair being whipped with a rod. This time, _he_ held all the power and all the immunity.

Meleagant halted at the edge of the practice field. His wife, Lami, stopped a couple of steps behind him, gaze cast downwards. Merlin restrained himself from shooting magic at the man. Their interaction had to be completely fair and legal.

"I received your summons," Meleagant held up a small parchment. "Come with just my wife?" His tone was haughty and suspicious

"I didn't want anyone else to be privy to your defeat," Merlin spoke in the measured, courtly way his tutors had instructed. "Consider it a mercy."

Meleagant laughed. "No witnesses?"

"Your wife and Gwen are all we need."

Meleagant's gaze shifted to Gwen and lust lit his eyes. Merlin's magic flared, but he shoved it back down and stalked up to the lord. Meleagant flinched at his approach but maintained his place. The reaction belied his calm demeanor. The man _was_ afraid of him. Good.

"You remember the last time we met on this field?" Merlin asked.

"I remember a snot nosed brat attacking me without provocation."

Merlin's jaw tightened. "You tried to hurt Gwen."

Meleagant's eyes narrowed. "It was you that night. When the statue fell. You broke my arm." He sneered. "You aren't some pure, do-gooder sorcerer. You do whatever you want to get what you want, just like them all."

"You tried to get what _you_ wanted. Someone had to stop you."

Meleagant waved the scrap of parchment. "And this is how you plan to abuse me this time? You think because you're Arthur's ward now you can threaten and I'll do what you want?"

"I can make your life hell." Merlin heard his own words and barely contained a cringe. Something balked within him, but he had set his course. This had to be done.

"Yes," Meleagant noted. "Your magic."

"I won't use it against you if you submit to my terms."

"Mm," Meleagant intoned. "Let me guess. I swear to release my rights to do with my wife as _I_ please."

Merlin nodded curtly. "And..."

"And I leave all your maidens alone." The lord's eyes flicked to Gwen.

"Yes."

"If I refuse, you'll use your magic against me."

"If you refuse, we'll duel."

"Ah yes. You'll kill me then."

"We'll use practice swords."

"And you'll use your magic, I presume."

"I already said I wouldn't," Merlin said, reminding Meleagant of their first interaction when he'd arrived in Odin's entourage.

"How will I know?"

"If my eyes glow even once, I'll forfeit the match."

Meleagant looked back at his wife who didn't even raise her head. "Sit over there with the maidservant," he ordered. The girl slunk away to the bench Gwen occupied. Meleagant moved towards the practice swords. "I accept your challenge. If only to prove which of us is still the better man."

* * *

Arthur barreled into Gaius' chambers. The physician was still slumbering in his cot with Nero nestled atop his rounded stomach. The door to the boy Daegal's room was open, and Arthur crossed to the assistant's quarters, peering inside. It was empty. The boy was probably on some errand. When he re-entered Gaius' room, the physician blinked awake.

"My lord?" Gaius croaked, and then began hacking, coughing up morning phlegm.

"Where is Merlin?"

Gaius slowly sat up, shifting a now fluttering Nero to his breast and lightly smoothing the kestrel's ruffled feathers. "He isn't here," Gaius muttered, disgruntled. "What's the boy done?"

"He was supposed to be getting ready for the hunt. His horse is still in the stable and not a stitch of his things packed! I had to order a servant to do it for him. We leave in an hour's time and I'm not going without him."

"Perhaps a training session with Nimueh? Aglain?"

"Aglain is meeting with the Druids. Nimueh insisted on coming on the hunt herself. She wouldn't believe me when I told her I _can_ handle Merlin on my own. She's worse than a mother bear with him! That aside, she's already up and preparing."

Gaius chuckled. Arthur sent him a withering glare. "I'm sorry, sire, but it's a little confusing."

"Confusing?"

"You haven't been this flustered over Merlin in months. There must be another reason you're upset besides your ward acting much like he always has."

Arthur looked away and ran a hand through his hair. "It...just...reflects badly on Camelot. Him late again. In front of the kings. It makes me look like an incompetent."

"Are you concerned about the kings' impression of you, my lord, or their daughters'?"

"They're...daughters? What do you mean?"

Gaius smiled knowingly, arched his back in a stretch, stood, and ambled over to his washstand. Nero flapped to the stand's edge. Gaius began to splash water onto his face and neck and scour them with a cloth. "I've lived in courts all my life. Suffered their gossip and rumor. The current most popular topic of discussion is King Arthur and his availability."

Blasted heat ran up Arthur's neck and ears again. He rubbed the back of his neck in irritation.

"Surely you have perceived that every king who possesses a daughter has brought her with him?" Gaius peered over his shoulder and Arthur sighed.

"Yes, Gaius. I noticed. What do I do about it?"

"You consider your options."

"I have. There are advantages to each. They..."

Gaius shuffled back over to him as he dried his face. "Forget the advantages to Camelot. Consider only which woman will make you a better man and a better king."

 _Guinevere_. Arthur forcefully pushed away the name that popped instantly to mind. He couldn't have her, so he needed to stop thinking about her! "Did my father love my mother when they married?"

"They were in love from the time they met, I believe. He adored her."

"And betrayed her," Arthur spat out.

"You know he wanted to give her a child. He didn't just want to conceive an heir. Don't think..."

"I didn't mean my conception. I meant he laid in another woman's bed."

Gaius nodded slowly. "I think...the pressure and frustration of trying to conceive an heir, and your mother's deep sorrow... He was in pain and he..."

"It doesn't matter why," Arthur snapped as he moved back towards the door. "It was wrong."

"Yes, my lord," Gaius acquiesced quietly.

Arthur stepped into the hallway and made his way back to the stairs. He wouldn't be like his father. Whichever woman he married, she would have his complete loyalty, even if love didn't ever materialize, which made choosing a wife all the more of a burden. If he chose poorly, he'd be stuck for life.

Arthur pulled in a long breath when a thrumming hummed in his chest. Merlin using magic, or almost. His chest vibrated like this when his ward was riled by but not using his magic. Where was Merlin? And what could he be up to that his magic was flaring? Arthur descended the stairs and quickened his pace.

He had searched all the places Merlin usually hung out—Gwen's room, the kitchens, the armory, the library, the castle towers… He could have sent a servant, but he considered himself directly responsible for Merlin. No other authority had signed the contract of wardship. And he had a sneaky suspicion that whatever Merlin was up to, it wasn't good.

Arthur grumbled as he pounded walkways through the castle and passed into the open. He didn't _want_ to put up with Merlin's antics, not today, not on top of the pressure of hosting an entertaining hunt, juggling kings, and evaluating their daughters.

A shout and a clashing sounded in his ear. Men on the practice field? At this hour? All the knights and guards had assignments and no practice had been scheduled. He strode quickly. As he drew closer, he heard the groans of combat and voices speaking to each other, though he couldn't understand the words. A cry of pain rang out. Arthur ran. When he dashed through an arch and reached the edge of the field, he stopped short. Merlin was crouched on the ground, heaving, his face glistening with sweat, his fringe plastered to his forehead. He'd gouged his left knee into the chest of a man sprawled out on the ground and was pressing a sword into his neck— _Lord Meleagant's_ neck.

"You better...keep your...promise," Merlin ground out.

Meleagant writhed beneath Merlin's knee for a moment, but the warlock dug his sword deeper into the lord's throat. It was a dull practice sword, but pressing it into a neck like that would still hurt and probably produce a bruise.

"Promise? I don't owe you any..."

Merlin's free hand suddenly yanked at Meleagant's hair and he leaned close to the lord's face. "I'll watch...If you don't...I won't keep...my magic away from you."

Arthur had heard enough. He strode onto the practice field. "What is this?"

Merlin's eyes jerked to him and he immediately straightened to a stand, lowering the sword to his side. Meleagant rolled and pushed himself shakily to his feet.

"I...I..." Merlin stammered for a moment, then stood at attention and spoke succinctly. "It was a challenge. A duel."

Arthur cocked his head and read the truth in Merlin's eyes. The challenge hadn't come from Meleagant. Merlin had issued it himself. Merlin must have seen he knew, because his ward averted his eyes.

"You still...don't have a handle...on the lad. Do you...Arthur?"

Arthur rounded on Meleagant, who was bent over clutching at his stomach with one hand. He looked thoroughly exhausted and was wincing every other word. Merlin must have thrashed him soundly. Arthur tried to not to feel exultant about the fact. This was a diplomatic incident and he couldn't be happy.

"Unless you want a trip to my dungeons, I suggest you address me properly or hold your tongue!" Arthur roared.

Meleagant swallowed hard. "Yes, your majesty…Forgive me."

Arthur looked to Merlin. "Why the challenge?"

Merlin's eyes swiveled back to his.

"Your majesty, he wrongly perceived my intentions," Meleagant interjected. "I disciplined my wife, and he assumed I intended to abuse her. I assure you, this is not the case. If you talk to my wife, you will find..." Meleagant broke off. "Where is she?" The lord's eyes had honed in on an empty bench. He hobbled towards Merlin in a rage. "What have you done with her?"

"She's safe," Merlin declared.

Arthur tried not to roll his eyes as he put two and two together. Why hadn't Merlin come to him? So much for doing things together.

Arthur grabbed Meleagant's arm before he reached his ward. The lord sucked in a sharp breath. Yes, Merlin had indeed handed Meleagant his comeuppance and then some. What a headache this would cause!

"What were the terms of the challenge?" Arthur asked.

Meleagant sneered. "I don't have to..."

"What were they?"

It was Merlin who answered. "If I won, he vowed to leave his wife and all the maidens of Camelot alone."

Arthur tried once again to suppress his emotions, the absolute pride in Merlin welling to the surface. His challenge had been honorable, if misguided.

Arthur swung Meleagant around and glared into his face. "I stand witness to your loss of this challenge and I will hold you to your vow. If you touch your wife or any woman in my kingdom in any dishonorable way while you are here, you will face swift retribution. I swear to you, I will watch you closely. And if you think to go to King Odin, be assured I will make it very clear you were challenged honorably, submitted of your own accord, and agreed to terms. If you think to bring a public accusation against my ward, it will not go well for you."

Meleagant straightened as best he could in Arthur's grip. "I...would not think...to go against my vows." His teeth were clenched, but Arthur could tell by his eyes he knew he was beaten.

Arthur looked back to Merlin. "Now, where is the lord's wife?"

* * *

Gwen spread another slice of bread with butter as she watched Lami nibble at the one she'd been given when they arrived. The girl had been mostly silent. She'd protested a little when Gwen suggested they go for a walk "to spare themselves the barbarity of men," but her objection was half-hearted, revealing how little she actually cared about her husband. If Arthur had been challenged, Gwen would have stayed and… Gwen stilled her hands. But, Arthur wasn't her husband, so it was foolishness even to consider such a circumstance.

"Would you like some milk?" Hunith asked the girl. Lami looked up briefly from her seat next to Gwen and nodded. Hunith poured a cup and set it before the girl, who stopped eating like a rabbit for a moment to sip carefully.

Gwen shared a glance with Hunith. Merlin had pulled his mother into his scheme as well, but she didn't know the whole of it. Merlin hadn't wanted her to know about the duel. She'd just worry, he'd said. He'd enlisted Hunith only to provide a safe haven for Lami so she and Gwen could speak openly with the noblewoman.

Gwen cleared her throat. "My lady, I asked you here for a purpose."

Lami looked up. Her eyes were so large in her face, wide and innocent as a child's. Gwen's pity for the girl tripled.

"We have a question to ask you and you needn't be afraid to answer."

Lami's brow creased ever so slightly.

"Does Lord Meleagant...hurt you?"

The girl settled her cup on the table, her fingers still wrapped around it as she stared at her plate. Hunith reached across the table and cradled the girl's hand on the cup. "I have known many wives ill treated by their husbands. You needn't feel ashamed."

Lami slowly raised her head to look at Hunith. "He means well. He says I need...discipline."

Anger roiled in Gwen's stomach. "He shouldn't hit you."

Lami looked to her. "He has to. I need it. To make me do right."

"No man _has_ to hit a woman," Hunith said. "What he is doing is wrong."

"But..."

"Do you know what Meleagant did to me?" Gwen blurted. "On one of his visit's here, he sent men to tie me and gag me and bring me to him. He meant to use me for his pleasure against my will. He is not a man worth protecting."

Hunith stared at her in shock. She guessed Merlin hadn't told his mother about that incident.

"I'm sorry," Lami whispered, cheeks blossoming red. Horrified, Gwen realized the reason for the girl's apologetic reaction. She must know full well her husband was capable of such acts. He had probably continued to perpetrate them even though he'd pledged his troth to her.

Hunith's hand tightened around Lami's. "Gwen brought you here because we want you to tell King Arthur what your husband has done to you. You can appeal to him officially and he can see that you are protected, even annul your marriage."

Lami abruptly pulled her hand away from Hunith. Fear colored her large eyes and she shook her head vehemently. "No, no. He's my husband. I need him."

"We can take care of you," Hunith assured. "You will not lack care or livelihood. I think...you may look noble, but you are not. You married Lord Meleagant to avoid another life."

"It was my father's dying wish. He was so happy when Lord Meleagant agreed to take me as his wife."

Hunith spoke softly. "It's not disloyal to your father to leave a man hurting you. Would your father wish you hurt?"

"I...don't...maybe he wouldn't...I don't know."

"I will go with you to Arthur," Gwen promised.

"I can't go. I can't. I..."

The door to Hunith's home swung open. Arthur stood in the doorway with a disheveled and wincing Lord Meleagant at his side.

* * *

Arthur had to endure an expression that could kill from Gwen when he stated Lord Meleagant was looking for his wife. He did inquire if the lady had a charge to bring, but he wasn't surprised when she replied in the negative. Still, he was fairly certain Meleagant would keep his current vow not to put his hands on her in any harmful way. He accompanied the lord and his wife to Gaius, dragging his ward along with him. Merlin's face was a veritable storm cloud, probably anticipating the row they'd both have after everything was taken care of.

Once Meleagant had been handed over to Gaius, Arthur grabbed Merlin by the sleeve and hauled him off to a deserted space at the bottom of a spiral staircase. He lowered himself onto the bottom steps, determined to speak slowly and clearly and not jump to screaming. He'd been doing his best to avoid explosive emotions these days—kingly disposition and all.

"I'm not sure you have ears," he began. Merlin had chosen to stand, shuffling back and forth on his feet across from him. "I told you expressly we wouldn't be antagonizing the man to his face."

"He hit his wife," Merlin countered.

"And you didn't come to me?"

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest and defiantly lifted his chin. "You needed to stay out of it."

"Stay out of it?" And just like that, Arthur was on his feet, holding out a hand in frustration and losing his battle with self-control. "I'm king! Everything that happens here is my responsibility."

"You said we couldn't cause an incident. I knew I could get Meleagant alone and then Gwen and Hunith could convince Lami to appeal to you. Then you came along and ruined it all."

"I get it, Merlin. Why you did it. Why it made sense to you. But it was the wrong move. What if Meleagant goes to Odin? I don't need to alienate any of the kings who might be my allies." Arthur shook his head and sighed loudly. "This is just what I need. A rumor that I sic my sorcerer ward on anyone I don't like!"

"It's not like that. It..."

"It doesn't matter what you think! You know gossip constantly undermines me. You may have nullified anything I meant to accomplish!"

Merlin's hands balled into fists. "He hit his wife. Someone had to defend her."

"You didn't give me the chance to be the one to do so! And I don't believe for a second this is only about Meleagant's wife. You couldn't pass up an opportunity to—how did you put it?— _beat someone's ass without repercussions._ "

"I wasn't," Merlin protested, though a hint of doubt had crept into his eyes.

"When you saw Meleagant, all you wanted was to have a go at him. You about issued a challenge right there in the courtyard."

"Yeah, but..."

"Be honest with yourself, Merlin."

"I am! I didn't want revenge. It was just...it was..." He shook an angry fist at Arthur. "Even _if_ it was, don't I get to fight for my honor? You made me fight Nob. You said it was an insult to you _and_ me. It's my right to fight for myself. You know what Meleagant did to me!"

Arthur recalled making Merlin fight the bully who had beaten him. He also remembered standing in a guest chamber doorway watching Merlin viciously punished and wincing at the aftermath as he washed a boy's back littered with gleaming red welts. A boy who had never gotten retribution. "Nob was a peasant. Meleagant is noble."

"And that makes a difference?"

"Yes."

"Well, it shouldn't."

"Maybe not. But it does."

"Argh!" Merlin fell back against a wall and slid down it, pressing his forehead to his knees. His voice came out muffled. "I hate this. I hate it all. The deceiving and the playacting and the lying. Every time I try to do it right, it all goes wrong. Just let me go back to being your scribe so I won't matter anymore."

Arthur's stomach sank. He walked over to his ward and lowered himself next to him. "I don't want you anything less than my ward."

Merlin lifted his head. "I'm not cut out to be noble. And I don't want to be. I won't submit to rules that ignore people being hurt!"

"You don't have to ignore people being hurt. You just have to do what you can within the rules."

"What would you have done?"

"If you'd come to me, I would have probably gotten the girl alone with another woman, like you did. That part of your plan was well considered. If she appealed to me directly, I could intervene without incident. And even if she didn't, I could use my own influence to make sure she wasn't in his clutches and he knew he was under watch. The same outcome without the beat-down."

Merlin looked away from him but mumbled, "I'm sorry."

"You always are." Arthur laughed softly. Merlin groaned and planted his face back into his knees. "It worked out all right. Just don't do it again." There was a moment of silence and then Arthur drew in a long breath. "I understand, Merlin. You don't know how to be noble? Well, I don't know how to be a king. Like this hunt. My father would have done it. I'm not sure why I'm doing it. To be like him? Or is this really my way? I fear the only thing the other kings see is a weak heir that's a shadow of his father."

"You're better than Uther," Merlin declared, raising his head. "Way better, Arthur."

"You are, my lord."

Arthur jumped at the feminine voice. He rose quickly, staring up at Princess Mithian peering at them over the spiral staircase railing.

"Princess Mithian," Arthur greeted. Merlin remembered his manners, pushing to his own feet and bowing his head. "We were just...eh...we were…"

"No one knows where you've got to, my lord. I had to return to my chamber for something and decided to conduct a search of my own. I heard voices and, and lo and behold, here you are."

"And...how much did you hear?" Arthur ventured.

"Some," the princess replied enigmatically.

"Merlin. Go prepare what you need for the hunt."

Merlin looked over at him, then at Mithian. He nodded sullenly and departed with slumped shoulders.

Arthur coughed lightly. "I hope, my lady, you didn't think..."

"I think your ward is right," Mithian said, descending the stairs with a wiry grace, moving with both poise and strength. She sported a more simple dress, golden but unembroidered, the skirts flaring to allow fluid movement. A proper dress for a woman on a hunt. She carried a quiver full of arrows. When she stepped off the bottom of the staircase she stopped and stared at him. "Being noble is such a burden. These games we play. Your ward is so new, and it's all too easy to make errors on the pitch."

"I don't know that you could err," Arthur spoke his thoughts aloud before he could stop himself.

Mithian chuckled. "Oh, my lord. If you only knew. My faults are many. I just conceal them well. For instance, I thought I'd despise you."

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"You were right about our harsh judgment. We're all evaluating you quite strenuously. I thought when you took the kingdom, Camelot would be kept quite insular, its brash young king pridefully hoarding his rule to himself and worrying not a smidge about the other kingdoms on our little isle."

"Did you father think the same?" Arthur asked quietly.

"To some extent. Escort me?" She held out her arm. Arthur wrapped his elbow around hers and they sauntered down a hall. "You see, my lord, when the announcement for Lady Morgana's wedding arrived, you became the talk of all the royal tables. You wanted us to come. That indicated you were willing to deal with us."

"Your father included."

"Yes. He has to consider you. Camelot is in an envious position. You're central to us all. At the very least we must pass through you to trade and travel. You boast fertile croplands and the largest city in the kingdoms. The man who reigns in Camelot wields more power than any of us. And now he even has sorcery at his disposal."

Arthur's stomach pitched. He'd known all she said somewhere in his psyche, but she said it so succinctly he saw his power in a more expansive light.

"Anyway, it's why we all desire you."

Arthur stopped walking and Mithian peered up at him with her inscrutable bronze eyes. " _You_ desire me?"

"Me, personally? I'm not sure yet." She smiled and tugged at his arm. "Perhaps I will be able to decide my own will after the hunt."

Arthur paused to open a door to the outside. Mithian let go his arm and exited. He caught a scent of rose water as she passed through.

"Now come, my lord, and tell me what great beasts you have felled in your time."

Arthur took her arm again, feeling a little lightheaded when his heart skipped a beat.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Next, chapter, the hunt. Can anything good ever happen in The Valley of the Fallen kings?


	101. It's All Fun and Games

Elyan paced warily in front of Odin's camp. The king had certainly brought along a large number of knights, probably because he didn't trust Camelot one iota. All the other kings had sent some of their most elite knights into the citadel courtyard to mingle. Odin kept his soldiers separate, situating them outside the walls. Maybe one or two had ventured onto the citadel grounds, but Elyan surmised those had taken their own initiative, simply an instance of curiosity calling the cat.

Odin's camp guards standing at attention continued to glare at him. Definitely no love lost for Camelot here. Elyan smirked to himself, wondering how much dealing with Arthur chafed at Odin. Cornwall's king could ignore Uther, but a new king of Camelot was unpredictable, and he couldn't very well stay at home when so many of the other kings were showing up to ingratiate themselves. Though, Odin didn't seem the ingratiating type and hadn't sired daughters to throw at Arthur. The council was at a loss to explain the man's appearance. They'd analyzed the possible aspirations of the kings who'd shown up for the wedding. Odin, a late arrival, was an enigma and none of them as yet could ascertain what the man might want.

Elyan stopped pacing. The man he sought had appeared, marching his direction with a confident and haughty stride, reeking of typical noble breeding. Since he'd come to Camelot, Elyan had been forced to admit not all nobles were cruel tyrants, but he still believed decent sorts were rare anomalies. Arthur, Lancelot, Leon and most of Camelot's knights handpicked by one of the three might challenge his own experiences, but he was certain the lion's share of nobles still delighted in power plays and underhanded scheming. And the noble now halting in front of him had gone even farther, daring to damage his friend.

"You asked for me?" the man questioned, bypassing preliminary greetings.

Elyan hadn't intended to waste time with pleasantries anyway. He took a step forward. "What did you do to him?"

The noble's gaze assessed him, moving up and down to take him in. "I recognize you. You were with Gwaine. Has something happened to him?"  
"Don't play games with me," Elyan growled. "What did you say to him?"

The man's jutting chin lowered an inch. "Please. If something has happened, I need to know." The change in tone surprised Elyan. The words weren't an order but a plea.

"We found him drunk and incoherent this morning. He hasn't worked himself into a state like that in months, and he keeps saying he's going to kill some man that isn't his father."

The man shook his head. "Do you know who his father is?"

"A king. Is it..." Elyan gestured at the camp, already sure his suspicion had been validated.

The man nodded. "Yes. Odin is his father."

Elyan's fingers cinched around his sword hilt. "Is that why Odin came? To kill Gwaine?"

"What?" the noble blurted out. "Heavens, no. Our father doesn't even know Gwaine's here."

" _Your_ father?"

"I'm Prince Gaheris. Gwaine is my brother. Well, half-brother."

The truth dawned on Elyan. "You're the brother who saved him."

"Yes...and no." Gaheris sighed. "It's complicated."

"Explain it to me."

Gaheris' eyes flicked to Elyan's grip on his sword hilt. "We're not your enemy. My father didn't mean to kill Gwaine's mother. It was an accident."

Elyan snorted. "Accidents are kings' convenient excuses to dispose of unwanted problems."

"King Arthur does that, does he?"

"Not him. But I'm sure yours does."

"I'm won't argue my father's deficiencies. He has many. But he doesn't deserve the blame for Gwaine's mother. I thought he killed her, too. Gwaine and I, all we saw was my father withdrawing the dagger from her body. He'd come to take Gwaine and she tried to stop him. They struggled and she wrested the blade from him and fell on it. That's the truth. All my father wanted that day was to bring Gwaine home to the palace so he could declare him his son and make him a prince."

So, Gwaine had been told everything he'd thought about his mother's death was a lie. But Elyan knew full well a supposed truth could _be_ a lie. Still, he had to begrudgingly admit Prince Gaheris was sounding more like Arthur by the minute and not a spoiled royal brat. He seemed to sincerely believe what he was saying.

"I didn't mean to upset him," Gaheris continued softly. "I just wanted to explain. I was surprised to recognize him. He was so young the last time I saw him, but I couldn't mistake his eyes and laugh. I thought I could tell him the truth and present him to father. Then he'd be accepted and I wouldn't be the only son my father had to rely on..." Gaheris stopped speaking and eyed Elyan. "Well, my troubles, I'm sure, are of no importance to you. But I swear, Gwaine means as much to me as you. Tell me where he is. I can talk to him."

Elyan's eyes narrowed.

"I vow I have no intention to harm, only help."

"I'm not sure you showing up again is the best for Gwaine."

"He's threatening to kill our father. If word of that gets out..." Gaheris let the import of his words hang in the air.

"Yeah," Elyan mumbled under his breath. He supposed they needed anyone they could get to calm Gwaine down before he went and did something stupid. "All right. Come with me." He marched away, Prince Gaheris following, but didn't release his grip on his sword hilt.

* * *

Gwaine blinked and stared foggily at a white ceiling that was too bright for the thrumming rattling his skull. The wet cloth that had brought him to awareness paused on his forehead.

"Gwaine?" The voice was soft and gentle and delightful. He smiled when the owner's face came into view.

"Sefa." Her forehead was creased in worry. "The baby?" He jolted upright, then groaned and clasped his head in both hands. "Is he all right?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Sefa's hand rested across her belly. No one could have guessed their secret yet. Only he knew her intimately enough to perceive the slight growth. "I haven't lost our child. But I was afraid for you. When you didn't come home, I went looking for you, and I found Percival and Elyan and they hadn't seen you. They said they'd find you and bring you home, but when they didn't come back, I thought…" She lowered her eyes. "I thought I might have to raise a child alone."

"Sefa," Gwaine breathed out and pulled her into his arms. She nestled against him, her slender form melding into his. Gods, he loved her. How dare he cause her such pains by acting like a halfwit clod! All because of Gaheris.

Gwaine gazed around the room. They were in a castle guestroom. Percival and Elyan must have thought it best to sober him up before taking him home. He recalled fleeing down Camelot streets and seeking out the seediest, most run down tavern in the capital, then flinging himself onto a bar stool and savoring the painful burn of liquor cascading down his throat. He didn't remember much after that.

Gwaine kissed the top of Sefa's head. "I went to a tavern," he confessed. "I was upset."

"Why didn't you come home instead?" Sefa's small voice asked, edged with hurt.

Guilt stabbed at Gwaine. He hadn't even considered his wife at the time. Memory had assaulted him, all the terror and grief he'd buried so deep. He'd retreated into his old habits to wash the past away...or to steel himself for future action. Intertwined with the desire to forget was an image of Odin pierced through by his sword, the king's mouth an open "O" as he stared in disbelief at his bastard son.

"My father's a king," Gwaine whispered.

Sefa shifted, looking up at him. "A king?"

Gwaine nodded.

"You're a prince?"

Gwaine shook his head. "The king took my mother by force and I was birthed from her assault. He killed her when I was thirteen. He would have killed me, too, but one of my half-brothers stopped him."

"Oh, Gwaine." Sefa's hand gently stroked his cheek. Gwaine laid a palm over her hand and met her sorrowful gaze.

"He's here. My brother. He came to see me. Brought the memories with him." Gwaine abruptly laid his free hand on Sefa's belly. "I'm going to be a good father. I'm going to protect him and make sure no one ever hurts him."

Sefa kissed the back of his hand laying over hers. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

"You'll be the best father," Sefa proclaimed when their lips parted.

A knock sounded on the door. Sefa rose from the bed. "It's probably Percival. He said he'd wait outside until you woke."

As his wife walked away, Gwaine rubbed at his eyelids. He barely recalled Percival and Elyan hauling him down streets lighting with the dawn. He should probably haul his ass out of bed and thank them, but his head still vibrated with every breath he took.

Sefa returned with Percival at her side. "You're alive," the giant of a knight noted.

"Barely," Gwaine murmured.

Percival nodded towards the door. "Elyan's in the hall."

"Oh do let him come in, Percival," Sefa said. "I must thank you both for finding Gwaine."

"Yeah," Gwaine added. "Both of you pulled me out of trouble. _Again_."

"Elyan didn't come alone," Percival reported.

"Don't tell me _all_ the knights know?" Gwaine moaned. "They'll hound me for months over this!"

"He's brought the man who spoke with you in the armory."

Gwaine's stomach flipped and he swallowed down a rush of bile. The pounding in his head redoubled. "Tell him to get away from here and never return."

"He's your brother," Percival protested, fixing him with a look of recrimination. So they knew.

"Doesn't matter," Gwaine snapped.

"You told me once he was a good man, wounded for trying to save you and disinherited."

A growl of frustration rumbled in Gwaine's throat as more spontaneous memories came to life. Gaheris had discovered he had a half-brother in his fourteenth year. He'd shown up on their door step laden with a basket of food and a stack of clothing. Gwaine's mother had at first been hopeful, assuming Odin would make things right for her and her son. By that time she'd been deluding herself for years, believing the king had taken her because he'd actually loved her, shoving away the truth that she had simply been a convenient vessel for his lusty pleasure. Odin hadn't wanted her and didn't want her, but Gaheris kept visiting, bringing provision, talking to Gwaine, teaching him stuff. Gwaine had idolized him.

"Gwaine." Sefa reached down and tenderly ran a small hand through his unruly locks. He wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned into her belly with his cheek, cherishing the life burgeoning inside her. "If he came, I think he cares about you. Talk to him." Her pleading was all Gwaine needed to capitulate.

"Show him in," Gwaine muttered. Percival moved away.

"Do you want me to stay?" Sefa asked quietly.

"It's best I speak to him alone." He didn't need her near, not if meeting with Gaheris turned sour again.

Sefa pulled away, squeezed his hand, and made her way out the door. Gwaine lay back in the bed, propped up by two pillows. The door opened again. Gaheris entered. Gwaine had meant to harden his heart against the man, but the genuine worry in Gaheris' expression cut him to the quick.

Elyan had followed the prince inside. "You want me in here?" he inquired.

Gwaine noticed Elyan's death grip on his sword hilt. His friends weren't taking any chances this time. He owed them. "Just leave the door open.

"I'll be outside then." Elyan sent a pointed glare Gaheris' way and left the room.

"How are you?" Gaheris asked.

Gwaine snorted, rubbing at his temples with a forefinger and thumb to stave off the drummers thumping away in his head. Gaheris chuckled. Gwaine glared at him. "You think this funny?"

"I was remembering your first night in a tavern." Gaheris couldn't squelch the smile playing on his lips, and Gwaine's own mouth unwillingly turned up at the corners.

He'd been twelve. He'd sneaked out after his mother fell asleep to join a group of lads intending to get a glimpse of a legendary fighter staying at the local inn...which just so happened to also house a rollicking tavern. They'd been inside the tavern less than a minute when the owner snatched at them to send them packing. Somehow, Gwaine had managed to avoid the same fate as his peers. Lost in the chaotic moment, he'd ducked behind a barrel in a corner. Not five minutes later he got his look at the fighting man's bulging muscles. Five minutes after that, an argument broke out between the fighter and a patron. Soon, tables, chairs, bottles, and who knew what else, were flying around the room. A drunk spied Gwaine and snagged him by the shoulder, raising a fist to smash into his face. His skull might have shattered to pieces if someone hadn't punched the man from the side, knocking him senseless. It was Gaheris, of course. His half-brother had hauled him outside, lectured him all the way back to his hovel, and smartly popped him once on the rear for good measure.

"Guess your taste for those places wasn't quenched," Gaheris said.

"Yeah," Gwaine muttered, closing his eyes and continuing to massage his temple. "My brain's a blacksmith's anvil."

Gaheris' voice was quieter when next he spoke. "I didn't mean to upset you yesterday, but I had to tell you the truth because I hoped you'd come home. You could assert your rights as a prince of Cornwall."

Gwaine cracked an eye open and laughed, then pressed his fingers tightly into his temple. "I won't ever be a prince of Cornwall. Odin will never own me."

"We could negotiate with him. You could sign a contract under your own terms. We could..."

"No," Gwaine said forcefully. "I know what happens to princes. Kings treat them even worse than their people. They chain them up and whip them and tell them it's for their own good."

"Father wouldn't do anything like that to you."

Gwaine bolted upright, ignoring the pain, nailing Gaheris with an angry scowl. "How many times did you rail on about Odin to me? You don't remember any of the pains he put you through?"

"That was part of growing up.. Being a prince isn't easy. But you're a grown man. It'll be different for you than it was for me."

"He killed my mother." Gwaine raised a hand when Gaheris opened his mouth to protest. "I know what you think you believe, but it's a lie. He killed my mother and I will _never_ be his son."

Gaheris stared at him for a long moment, then let out a breath. "It was just a dream, I guess. I thought we could be brothers side by side."

Gwaine felt a pang of sorrow. He really wished he didn't have to disappoint his brother, but he had no other option.

"Just promise me you won't kill father while we're here. If you try anything, you'll get hurt or worse. I can't see that happen to you."

Gwaine caught movement at the door. Sefa was peeking in. Gwaine firmed his jaw. He had a wife. He had a child. He couldn't attempt anything as foolish as assassinating a king even if he felt entirely justified. "I swear he'll be safe for _this_ visit."

Gaheris nodded shortly. "He's on the hunt with your king anyway. You can't do anything to him at the moment. But when he returns, I'll look to you to keep your vow."

"I'm a man of my word," Gwaine asserted.

"I believe you."

Gaheris turned towards the door and Gwaine found he didn't want his brother to leave. "Stay for a meal?" he blurted out.

Gaheris stalled and swiveled back around with a broad smile. "Gladly."

* * *

"You understand my orders?" Morgause asked.

"Yes, priestess," Kara replied.

Morgause glanced at the rest of her gathered sorcerers. They weren't supposed to be together according to Cenred's designs. Each of them had crossed the border into Camelot on their own or in pairs. Raise no suspicions, had been the command.

Morgause smirked. Cenred had his plans, she had hers. If his prevailed, it would make her life easier, but she couldn't depend on him. She could only depend on those committed to the real cause: the elevation of magic. She glanced at the youth not far away. And that meant putting up with an arrogant, brash child, too.

Mordred's Druids began to disperse and the youth wandered her way. Kara gazed on him with admiration. Morgause smoldered. The glory of her people had been hers until he showed up claiming to be Emrys. Not much longer. Soon the truth would be revealed and her people would be wholly hers once again.

Mordred stopped next to her, nodding at Kara.

"Do they understand?" Morgause asked.

"Of course they do," Mordred snapped. "We're not idiots."

"Do _you_ understand?"

Mordred glared at her.

"Go, Kara. Keep near each other. We meet in two days."

Kara withdrew, smiling coquettishly at Mordred, who let slip a smile in return. Morgause tried not to roll her eyes. She didn't need the frivolity of young love getting in the way of her plans. She grabbed Mordred's elbow and pulled him along, away from the forest clearing.

"Why can't we take them with us?" Mordred questioned petulantly.

"We have a visit to make alone, and I don't want to frighten our host. She doesn't appreciate crowds."

"You still haven't explained who she is."

"She's not someone you explain. She's someone you see."

"Cenred's not going to be happy when he knows we've taken off."

"He's aware I need to attend to something."

"I thought you said we had to put up with him."

"We won't have to for much longer."

Mordred's eyes lit up. "We're going to stop using him?"

"Oh no. We're going to use him. We're going to let him wear Camelot down and then we're going to take it from him."

Mordred snatched her arm, halting her. "Tell me what you're planning."

Morgause pulled her arm out of his grip. " _I_ was the one who created the alliance. _I_ was the one who rebuilt the priesthood. And now they don't want me. Oh, they pretend, but this move of Cenred's and the others, they planned it and are enacting it _without_ me. They think to use us all, use our magic to their advantage. You can't trust agreements. Not from kings. And certainly not from allies."

"We could enter Camelot in the chaos. Kill Arthur."

Morgause laughed. "Not with his sorcerer in the way. Cenred is right about that one. Patience, Mordred. We let our allies do what they want and then we'll get what we want. And I promise, King Arthur will be yours to dispatch."

Mordred slowly nodded. Morgause turned away and walked ahead of him, stifling a smirk. The boy was willing to follow as long as she promised him death for King Arthur, and she needed him to augment her power. But if circumstances were as she expected, she'd have all the control by tomorrow.

* * *

Arthur peered into a world of dense overgrowth. The Valley of the Fallen Kings was indeed a plentiful hunting grounds. The river running through its center drew animals of all kinds, but especially boar and deer. His father had always considered the valley a challenge—using a horse inside its borders was unwieldy; it was better to hunt on foot.

"Ancestors of yours?" Rodor had joined him, craning his neck upwards to survey the two imposing statues of kings guarding the entrance to the Valley.

"I don't know," Arthur replied. "But I don't believe so. I've always thought them to be more a representation of the tombs inside."

"The burial spots have long been lost to time," Bayard added as he took up position next to Rodor. Bayard had been on hunts with his father several times.

"Haunted then?" Lord Godwyn asked. Arthur peered around Bayard. It seemed all the kings had decided to join him and scrutinize their playing field, all except Odin who was nowhere to be seen at the moment.

"Locals might think so." Bayard chuckled. "But no, we're safe, Godwyn."

"'Tis a pity. I'd like to spy a ghost or two," Mithian declared, abruptly appearing on Arthur's left, cocking her head at him when he looked her way. He tried not to stare too long.

"Ghosts. Bah!" exclaimed Olaf. "Even if they did exist, our presence would frighten them away. Ghosts fear courage."

"I don't think that's exactly how spirits work," Godwyn pondered.

"Superstition," Bayard scoffed.

"You don't think there's anything beyond our physical world?" Rodor challenged. "What of magic?"

Bayard shrugged. "A phenomenon we have no explanation for as yet."

"If you want to inquire concerning the nature of magic, why not ask our resident expert?" Mithian pointed at Merlin who had wandered ahead, standing at the base of one of the colossal statues.

"Emrys is powerful, but he is still learning." All eyes turned to the formidable woman standing behind them with her hands on her hips. "Life is more than you can see with your eyes. Far more. If you only perceived what watches you now."

Uneasy glances passed between the kings and they abruptly departed to see to their camps. The journey to the Valley had taken most of the day. They would camp tonight and hunt tomorrow.

Unlike the kings and Lord Godwyn, Mithian didn't seem disturbed by Nimueh's intrusion and might have stayed, but her father clasped her arm and led her away. Her eyes flicked to Arthur in disappointment. Was he disappointing? Or had she been disappointed to leave?

Arthur looked to Nimueh. "That wasn't helpful."

Nimueh's eyes twinkled. "But it was the truth. Some places radiate magic. To deny such truth is to be naive."

"I'm trying to make the kings feel at ease with me."

Nimueh shook her head. "You want them on your side, but never at ease. Even if you manage an alliance, you will find it tested. Loyalty only goes so far."

Arthur noted the pain in her expression. "I wish I could change what my father did to you."

Nimueh looked away to Merlin. "The past, Arthur Pendragon, is no fault of yours." She nodded towards his ward. "It is the future you should concern yourself with." She turned on her heel and withdrew.

Arthur sauntered forwards, noticing as he drew closer Merlin's intense concentration. The youth was staring into the Valley. "Merlin?"

"Don't you feel it?"

"Feel what?"

"Everything. It's so full of life. Every tree, every leaf. Every insect."

Arthur pondered the lush Valley. "I don't feel anything. Though when you look like this, I wish I could. What do you feel?"  
Merlin turned his head and his eyes refocused onto Arthur. "Well, it's like the world's..." His eyes darted upwards as he searched for the right word. "Vibrating. As if everything is much more than itself."

"Nimueh was just lecturing the kings on the invisible properties of this world."

"It's invisible," Merlin agreed. "But it's strong."

"Is it safe?" Arthur suddenly asked, once again peering into the Valley growing darker as the day waned.

"It's not dangerous, just powerful...intoxicating."

Arthur frowned. "I don't know I want to bring you along if it intoxicates you."

Merlin fixed him with an alarmed expression. "I have to go in."

"If something in there affects you..."

"You can't leave me behind. You need protection."

"You just said it was safe."

"The magic's safe, but there's boar and maybe wolves and all kinds of things in there."

"You doubt I can tackle them on my own?" Arthur asked, amused. "You've seen me hunt how many times?"

"And I was with you most of the time."

Arthur huffed a laugh. "It's not like I was safe just because you came along."

Merlin's face flushed and he looked away.

Arthur sighed. "What's really going on inside that addle-headed brain of yours?"

"You haven't always been safe," Merlin muttered. "You almost died the first time I came with you."

The past crashed down onto Arthur, memories of a twelve year old Merlin rushing in when a boar charged him. He hadn't known the truth at the time, that Merlin had caused a branch to fall to prevent his injury and possible death. Heat rose in Arthur's cheeks. He'd assumed Merlin had recklessly disobeyed his command to stay back and his foolishness had resulted in the boar gouging Lancelot. Arthur's response had been to stomp off into the woods, intent on stripping a flexible stick of its twigs and leaves so he could whip the boy. It was what his father would have done, cover his son's backside in stinging stripes without mercy. How lucky he had been that Leon and Lancelot had intervened on Merlin's behalf.

"I remember," Arthur admitted quietly. "I know I told you I was sorry for wanting to punish you that day, but I never said thank you."

Merlin looked back at him. "You're welcome." The hint of a smile played along his lips.

"But the past doesn't change the fact potent magic can affect you strangely. Remember the cave?" Arthur would never forget their experience in the cave of crystals, him struck down and thrown into a vision, and Merlin overwhelmed by an intimate knowledge of time.

"It really is all right," Merlin insisted. "There's nothing in there that magically can hurt us. Come on, Arthur. You're not going to drag me all the way out here and not let me come with you."

Arthur stared at him a moment, then threw an arm around Merlin's shoulders and knuckled his head. "You're right. I'm not."

"Hey!" Merlin protested, swiping at the crown of his head to break Arthur's assault.

"You're a little brother, Merlin. Can't stop following me around. I learned long ago I can't fight that."

Arthur reveled in the youth's grin as he pulled him towards their camp.

* * *

"Let it in, Emrys. Every wisp, every tendril, every breath of life."

His eyes closed, Merlin attempted to follow the command. A shiver tingled along his arms, raising fine, dark hairs. His breaths came faster as the potent magic emanating from the Valley skimmed across his flesh. He could almost taste it… And then Arthur intruded into his thoughts, kneeling as a boar charged him. Meleagant gloated not far away, reveling in Arthur's danger. Behind him, his wife watched in silence, sporting a black eye. The pulsing Valley magic receded. Merlin opened his eyes and leaned forward, palms on the ground, breathing heavily. A huff of disapproval sounded across from him.

"You're distracted," Nimueh chastised. "You waste this opportunity with worry."

"I'm not worried," Merlin choked out between gritted teeth. Why hadn't Aglain came along instead of Nimueh? He preferred the Druid's gentler instruction.

"Do you consider me blind?" Nimueh accused. "I know you as well as myself. The boy I first met still thrives inside you."

Merlin scowled at her. "I'm not a _boy_ anymore."

Nimueh huffed a breath. "You are not a child in age, but the boy lives. If he did not, I would despair."

Merlin frowned. "Why?"

"The boy I met exhibited compassion and sacrifice. That boy has not vanished from your heart."

"I guess so."

"He hasn't. That is why you worry for your king and his future. Why you worry over the wife of the spoiled lord." Nimueh smirked when Merlin raised his brow in surprise. "I have watched you these many months, and on this recent journey, you have ridden close to King Odin's entourage and focused on a subservient girl. You cannot help but let compassion drive you."

"Maybe," Merlin muttered, though he knew it was true, but compassion sounded so...girlie. "I'm strong, too," he grumbled.

"Compassion isn't weak. Compassion can be an enduring strength. Though perhaps you should be careful how you direct it."

"Lord Meleagant hurt his wife. Hit her."

Nimueh's blue eyes pierced him, even though shadows were falling and they communed by the light of a fire. "You're like my son."

Merlin frowned. "Your son?"

A far gentler smile than Merlin had ever seen the high priestess employ graced Nimueh's mouth. "He cared, often too much. He was eager to trust and love."

Merlin wasn't sure how to respond. Nimueh had never talked about her family, lost when Uther either killed them or exiled them.

"When you came to me, I beheld one like him again. My heart awoke. You led me back into the light." Nimueh's eyes had grown uncharacteristically moist. "This is why I teach you, Emrys. You are our hope for a good future."

Merlin sat up straighter and pinched his lips together, then vowed, "I'll stop worrying. Tell me what to do. I'll promise to hear you."

* * *

Merlin ambled through the darkening twilight. His session with Nimueh had soothed the long day of travel away, leaving him relaxed and revitalized. All the burdens he'd carried had paled in the face of the breathtaking Valley magic that excited the rush of blood through his veins. Unfortunately, his mind had wandered back into reality, back to Lami.

Merlin had been flabbergasted when Meleagant had shown up in Odin's group riding his horse, wincing with its every step. Lami had followed behind her husband on a short mare, head down, eyes diverted. Once or twice during the ride Merlin had caught her eye, but she looked away quickly as if she feared being caught. Meleagant had been a perfect gentlemen, though, and Merlin had to admit his challenge and Arthur's threat seemed to have reformed the man for now.

"Merlin," a whispering voice called. Gwen had appeared not far away, brows knit in concern. So much for a peaceful stroll. Such things never lasted long for him; tranquility wasn't his lot in life.

"What is it?"

Gwen grasped his arm and pulled him after her. "I've been sneaking a peak whenever I can of Lami like you asked. Everything's been well. But I just tried to find her and..."

"What has he done to her?"

"Nothing. He hasn't touched her all day."

"Then what's wrong?"

"I saw her wander away from Odin's camp."

"Probably wants a moment to herself," Merlin muttered. "Get away from everything."

"Look," Gwen said, ignoring his grumpy comment that hinted at her unwelcome intrusion. "I have to get back to Mithian, but you had to see this first." She dragged him farther into the woods, then pressed a finger to her lips and stepped lightly. He did the same until she paused behind a tree and gestured him close to her.

A strange hissing interspersed with moaning met Merlin's ears. Goosebumps prickled along his skin. He peered round the tree into a small clearing littered with ferns. A figure writhed in the center, facedown among the plants. "Lami?" he mouthed to Gwen. She nodded. He strained to hear. The hissing had dissolved into words. They were… His eyes rounded.

"Is it?" Gwen whispered.

Merlin nodded. He sent his sight into the clearing, honing in on Lami's eyes gleaming yellow. She had magic. Merlin looked to Gwen and waved his hand back towards camp. Gwen nodded gratefully and turned to make her way back.

Merlin watched in fascination for a minute more. What was she doing, rolling around on the ground like that? He'd about decided to step into the clearing when Lami staggered to her feet, head whipping this way and that. He thought he'd been sensed, but she honed in on a section of forest in a different direction. He took the opportunity to move from behind the tree.

"My lady."

Lami twirled around, hands going to her head, but on seeing him, the glow in her eyes faded. She backed away.

"You have magic," Merlin said. Lami stared at him wildly, then her hands covered her face and she moaned into them. Merlin took another step towards her. "It's okay. You're not in trouble. Arthur's lifted the ban. No one will hurt you." The girl had gone rigid. Merlin paced up to her and grasped her wrists, pulling her hands away from her face. "It's all right. Really."

"Please don't tell my husband," Lami begged.

"Meleagant doesn't know," Merlin stated, surprised.

"He hates magic. I can't tell him. Please, my lord." She grasped at his sleeves. "He'll beat it out of me. Don't tell him! Don't tell anyone!"

Lami's desperation ignited a desire to shield the girl within Merlin. He pulled her into him and embraced her, winding sure arms around her slight form. "I won't tell," he promised. "I won't. And I'll protect you." His mind began to spin, conjuring ways he could rid her of Meleagant's control.

A rustle in the trees to their left startled the girl. She sniffed, gasped, and pushed away from him, dashing away into the darkness. Only seconds later, a looming black form melded out of the shadows. Merlin stood his ground, raising his hands, making good on his vow to protect Lami or die.

"Leoht!" Merlin shouted. A glowing orb sprang from his hands and he braced himself for whatever dark creature had been unleashed upon them. The form shrank and warped, and Merlin's face lit up with a relieved grin. "Freya!"

* * *

"Come to bed," Lancelot whispered in Morgana's ear. His wife raised her weary head. All day long she'd tried to see, to ferret out the whereabouts of her sister. He'd paced near her for some time, finally calling for a meal and insisting she break for food. Then he'd cajoled her into bathing and donning a gown. Afterwards, she'd retreated to the solar chamber, so named so for its large windows and warm light. There she had sat, bathed in a perpetual glow, brow creased in concentration. She refused an evening meal.

Lancelot kneaded his fingers into the back of her neck and Morgana sighed. "I can't see anything."

"Maybe you aren't supposed to," Lancelot said. "Aglain and Nimueh both say a seer can't see just because they wish to."

"Taliesin could."

"I think Taliesin was a special case. Maybe seers in his day were more powerful."

Morgana's voice softened. "I know why we go mad. It's not just not knowing which action to take. It's not being able to see when you need to."  
"The safety of Camelot isn't dependent on you."

Morgana rose from her seat and turned to him, green eyes flashing. "Arthur is in danger. Merlin is in danger. I feel it."

"We're most likely all in some amount of danger." Lancelot navigated her by her shoulders, directing her around the chair to stand in front of him. "But we've had no word that anything has happened to Arthur or Merlin or Camelot."

"Something will happen sometime. We can't just sit here." Lancelot leaned in and kissed the side of her neck. Morgana sighed. "I'm ruining our time away."

Lancelot pulled back. "Ruin me all you want." He grinned. A smile and a laugh finally broke through Morgana's frustrated expression. "Allow me your attentions tonight and try again tomorrow?" He tried to look as sorrowful as possible. She gave in, nodding.

Lancelot took her hand and they moved into a hall, heading to their bedchamber. He wished he had the gift of sight, could join with her as Taliesin, strengthen her ability. Her gift was, indeed, valuable to them, and Arthur had inquired into its usefulness. The response from their resident magic tutors was not to rely on visions and not to pressure their seer. So they'd backed off, but it little mattered. Morgana went on pressuring herself.

Lancelot's hand was jerked backwards. He glanced over his shoulder. Morgana stood stock still, eyes staring vacantly down the hall. "Morgana?" She didn't move, but her eyes began to roll this way and that. He let go her hand and cupped her cheeks. She looked right through him. "Love?" He stroked her cheek. Was this what a vision looked like? His heart pattered to see her immobile and helpless, and he unable to suffer the images with her.

A breath whooshed out of her mouth, ruffling the fringe at his brow. She blinked and refocused on him. "The Valley."

"Valley?"

"Of the Fallen Kings. Arthur and Merlin and Nimueh." She grasped his shoulders so tightly, her fingernails pierced through his shirt. "It will destroy them all."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** The stage is set! Next chapter, hunting in the Valley.


End file.
